


In A Cardboard Castle

by casket4mytears



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit Newsflesh trilogy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Bouncing on Beds, Cooking with Mrs Fields, Dawn Of The Dead Homages, Dead Rising references, Down With The Sickness Montages, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, George Romero will not approve, Government Conspiracy, Keith Mars will not put up with your bullshit, Look Logan and Veronica are gonna kick ass and fall in love just come along for the ride, Movie Dates in Strange Places, Quarantine, Shopping Malls, Stargazing, Stoners Gone Wild, Team Sleuthing, VMTAP20, Written while so tired I might as well be a zombie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casket4mytears/pseuds/casket4mytears
Summary: High school senior Veronica Mars is no stranger to private investigations.  Freshly licensed and working in her father's business, she moonlights on cases while aiming for class valedictorian, consumed with a single goal:  getting the hell out of Neptune forever.  When her father is called out of town and a lead comes in on a high-profile case, she doesn't think twice.  She can tail a research scientist and grab the money shot in her sleep.It is only when she reaches her destination, the crowded local mall, that she realizes her target wants to be found.  She has a plan of her own:  to expose her company's secrets, at any price-even the lives of Neptune's citizens.Trapped with the infected by a government hell-bent on keeping its evil deeds from the public, Veronica needs a way out.  If the pathogen doesn't kill her, spending three weeks in close quarters with her mortal enemy from school just might...Canon characters, AU.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 189
Kudos: 111
Collections: Gotta Blame It On My Tropes Baby, LoVe In The Time Of Quarantine





	1. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my quaran-fluffy fic with a side of sleuthing!
> 
> The challenge of late: quarantine fics for LoVe. My response: it doesn't have to be COVID, right?  
> Because this girl, she needs to stretch the boundaries of a challenge, whenever she can.
> 
> This fic is ALSO A WISHING WELL FIC, granting a request for the following:  
> "Veronica and Logan get locked in a shopping mall overnight and it turns into a 2 week long stay during a quarantine scare. They have nothing to do but bounce on the beds, watch the giant TVs and try to avoid each other. Which they can't."
> 
> For those who've seen the Sarah Polley Dawn of the Dead, you know where we're going already, only MUCH happier.
> 
> Let the games begin...

**DAY ONE**

There were three places in Neptune that Veronica loathed with every fibre of her being.

First and foremost, Neptune High. The bane of her existence, a cesspool of popularity politics, where the class war that raged throughout the county was indoctrinated upon each generation through cliques, clubs and the credit of the 09’er elite, Pirate Points. Conveniently earned for the clubs they preferred and excelled at, Pirate Points were traded for perks with school administrators—practice for the real world where cash was king.

Second, the soccer field three blocks from Neptune High, where she’d played for two years in junior high. Too many painful memories of a mother who’d once promised to love her, before packing a bag in the night and bailing to Arizona, then… who knew? Veronica had lost her after Barstow and she honestly didn’t give a shit anymore. The hero was the one who stayed, and her father had never abandoned her for some shitty, slick-haired guy from an AA meeting. 

Third, Neptune Heights, the gleaming, glass-covered atrocity of a mall on the edge of the county, just off the interstate. Boasting two food courts, an Apple store, a Saks, a Nordstrom’s and Sephora, it was _the place to be_ if you were _cool_. Which, Veronica neither was, nor cared to be—although she did love First Aid Beauty’s skin care line. 

So when her father had found himself flying to Vegas in pursuit of a bail jumper, and she’d gotten a hit on a Visa for corporate espionage case at the Neptune Heights Apple store as he boarded his flight, she’d cursed her luck, grabbed her messenger bag, and decided to bill a replenish of her skin care regimen to Mars Investigations as payback. Their client, a research laboratory in San Francisco, had taken the Platinum package, and this was their first real lead in putting eyes on their subject, Dr. Evelyn Tedesco. Surely, securing images and tailing her to her hiding place was worth a sixty buck gift box for her potential misery?

Grabbing the keys for her Le Baron, she secured the office and bounded down the stairs to the somewhat questionable street where they worked. Rent was affordable, and in Veronica’s eyes, the grime and drug deals on the corners lent an authenticity to their operating model. No one should trust a PI operating out of a pristine white office in an upscale neighbourhood, in her opinion. 

She coaxed the car to a high speed, making it to the mall in twenty minutes. As she parked the car near the upper entrance, she checked her alerts for further activity on Tedesco’s card and smiled. _Orange Julius? Really?_ Well, her thirst was Veronica’s gain. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she locked up and headed inside, running through a mental checklist. _Secure photos, locate method of transportation, secure images of plates, tail if possible. Tracker ideal._ She had a few devices ready to go if opportunity struck: a tiny bug perfect for a classic “bump and bait” manoeuver (easy enough in a crowded mall on a Saturday afternoon) and a tracker to stick to her car.

First things first: find the needle in a haystack.

The mall was, as she dreaded, teeming with her classmates. Madison Sinclair and Shelly Pomroy immediately fell into hushed whispers as she passed them outside Victoria’s Secret; Casey Gant eyed her cropped black denim jacket and Doc Marten boots with disdain as they crossed paths outside American Eagle; and Gia Goodman desperately tried to catch her attention from inside Lush. Mercifully, Veronica weaved around a crowd of Pan High football players and evaded her excited shouts.

Neptune Heights had two food courts: a smaller court on the upper east side, which she passed now, finding no sign of the thirty-something researcher with the slight build and jet black hair; and a large court in the lower level, dead centre of the structure. As Veronica moved through the busy Saturday crowd, she spotted a familiar face outside the Apple store, although not the one she sought.

“Dr. Preston?”

Their client, the director of the research laboratory, was exiting the Apple store in a frantic state. _I didn’t alert him to the Visa hit. It was her personal card. How did he know to come here… and how did he beat me to the mall?_

Something didn’t add up.

He cut to his right, heading for the escalator down to the centre food court, and Veronica followed at a distance, keeping herself concealed behind the flow of traffic. It didn’t matter: the silver-haired man, dressed in a tailored suit that stuck out horribly, was clearly preoccupied, alternately checking his phone and scanning the crowd. 

Reaching into her bag, Veronica retrieved her camera, snapping several images of Dr. Preston as he descended. Her dad needed to see this. Maybe the cheque wasn’t worth being entangled with people like this.

Opting to hang back and remain on the upper level, she moved to the sheer glass walls framing an overlook, affording her a view of the food court below. She picked Preston out of the crowd swiftly, tracking him past several fast food counters towards the fountain… where Evelyn Tedesco stood up, waving her arms at the sight of him.

_Damn it!_

Snapping several more photos, Veronica shook her head at the quality. Her telescopic lens would be conspicuous in here, and the images were too distant to cleanly identify her subjects. She needed to get closer.

She pushed her way to the escalator, running down the left-hand side of the steps and weaving behind a pillar ten feet away. _Much better._ Adjusting her focus, she fired off several shots before switching to video, capturing what was becoming a heated argument between Tedesco and Preston. 

“…serious….”

“You can’t keep this….show you…”

“Stop being ridiculous!”

Veronica edged closer, straining to hear their conversation clearly. Her instincts told her that Preston’s tale of Tedesco selling research secrets to a competitor was far from truthful. As she stepped behind a pillar to Tedesco’s left, the slight woman tossed her head and scoffed at her former colleague.

“You really think I’m going to let you get away with it? The American public deserve to know what’s being done behind closed doors,” she hissed.

“We are conducting _research_ , Evelyn!”

“We are being asked to aid in war crimes!”

Veronica’s eyes widened. _What the hell?_

“The pathogen is not intended for those purposes,” Preston deflected, his eyes shifting to the left.

 _Liar, liar_ , Veronica chided silently as she zoomed in.

“Oh? Then it won’t matter if I release it into the wild, will it? I mean, it’s harmless unless used with ill intent, right Steven?”

Preston’s jaw fell slack. “Evelyn, you know the risks! It’s unstable! The early trials—“

“How did you put it at my last meeting? Oh right, _it’s not my concern_ ,” Tedesco sneered. 

“Evelyn, please, give me the concentrate.” Preston was begging now. “Our last trials… There’s been an unforeseen complication.”

Veronica’s heart pounded as Evelyn Tedesco’s lips curved into a sinister smile. “I can’t, Steven. It’s already airborne.”

 _Mask, I need a mask. If it’s not too late…_

“Where, Evelyn?” Preston demanded, pulling an N95 mask from his blazer pocket.

“Not here, you pathetic bastard!” Extracting a mask from her purse, she tugged it over her face. “I left it somewhere guaranteed to have a steady crowd.”

A scream cut through the din of the food court, drawing the eyes of the mall’s patrons upwards. Veronica ended the video, tucking her camera inside her bag and backing down the west corridor of the lower level.

 _The Apple store_ , she realized, remembering Evelyn’s purchases. _It’s always packed_. 

The screaming grew louder, a thundering of footsteps following as Veronica bolted inside Old Navy in search of a phone and supplies: a t-shirt and hair-ties, in particular. Placing a call for a bioweapon to the Neptune sheriff’s office was a hopeless prospect with Don Lamb in charge; placing a bomb call was more prudent. A second call to the FBI was made on the move, her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she folded a stolen t-shirt into a quick mask, securing it with hair ties around her ears.

_Thank you, Mac and your protester tip videos!_

Pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, Veronica assessed her escape routes, finding none viable. The patrons were stampeding, crashing into each other. _Something_ was happening in the food court now… something involving a great deal of screaming and banging. Overhead, the PA system urged calm and orderly exit. 

_Good luck with that_!

She dodged quickly for the left, hugging close to the storefronts as she bolted for the exit at the end of the corridor. A blaring alarm sounded overhead, something akin to an air horn, and Veronica pressed her palms to her ears in agony. _Thirty feet… twenty five… twenty…_

An ominous rattle echoed through the hall, stopping her in her tracks. Dead ahead, steel shutters descended swiftly, blocking her egress.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

Pivoting on her heel, she looped past a nail salon and a sobbing woman wearing far too much jewellery for a trip to a mall as the air horn screech paused for an announcement.

_“Your attention please, your attention please. This is your life safety coordinator. Please remain calm and leave the premises through the nearest exit on the east side of the building. The arrows overhead will guide you to your nearest exit point. Your attention please, your attention please…”_

Veronica did not know what struck more fear in her heart: the words _life_ safety or the shudder in the man’s voice. Staring ahead at the screaming teenager clutching a bleeding arm as she fled the food court, she swallowed hard.

_Definitely option C: passing that mess to get out of here._

“Just like soccer.” She rolled her neck, gauging the clearest path that offered the widest berth in the fray. “Cut through the line, make it to the goal.”

Tightening the strap of her bag, Veronica made a break for it.

Her path was clear, at first: her initial hesitation to flee had meant she was one of a few stragglers on the west side now correcting course. Most seemed too panicked to plan their strategy, choosing the straightest line of flight; Veronica, understanding this, cut diagonally through the gaps between them. She’d cleared Claire’s and a store selling an array of board games and was rounding the edge of the food court when a high-pitched shriek stumbled her face-first into the glowing menu board of an Arby’s. Spinning around in search of the source, her eyes widened in horror.

In the sunken centre of Neptune Heights’ food court, a trio of Pan High lettermen were pummeling Lenny Sopher face-first into a marble pillar at an inhuman speed. Jack-hammering him, really. Blood streamed down their faces as the tallest, a broad-shouldered blonde tossed his head back and screamed. His skin was an alarming shade of maroon, as if all of the blood in his body were rushing to his skull.

A crash to Veronica’s right startled her and she turned, covering her mouth as a security guard’s head rolled past her feet, mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’. Tad Wilson, a guy from her Physics class who’d always had a nasty temper, had apparently kicked it into overdrive. Shoving aside the corpse of the security guard, he grunted loudly at her.

“Tad! Hey, buddy…” Veronica took two tentative steps backwards, calculating her next move. “I take it a Snickers won’t fix this, huh?”

It was his eyes that told her he was infected. As he staggered closer, chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon, she noticed it: tiny rivulets of bloody teardrops streaking his cheeks. She remembered a case she’d worked last semester for Tad’s ex-girlfriend Carmen and grimaced. _He definitely owns an iPhone. Fuck!_

Her hand fidgeted in her bag, tugging her Taser free. “Tad, you know I carry Mr. Zappy, so…”

He bared his teeth and lunged as she fired, backpedalling quickly. Tad staggered slightly, but never dropped. Oh no, he did not drop at all. 

The Taser had only infuriated him more.

“Crap!”

Veronica’s boots pounded against the tiles as she bolted across the corridor towards the one store in her immediate vicinity that she knew would have its own security gate: Best Buy. Tad kept a close pace, his growls of fury soon echoed by a second cry of rage from a deeper place in the food court. 

She felt herded, hunted by a pack.

Fists pumping hard, she made it inside the electronics chain and flipped a switch on a side wall, sending a steel grate slamming to the ground. Tad’s body connected with the grate roughly, his fists gripping the bars and shaking it with vicious force as he _shrieked_.

_Why are they shrieking?_

Toggling the lock on the gate, Veronica backed behind the checkout counter, crouching out of sight as the Pan High trio joined Tad at the gate. Tad’s hand smacked against it as he grunted in a language they seemed to understand. Groans, shrieks and grunts echoed in the store in a chilling cacophony.

Blinking away tears, Veronica’s shaking hand pulled her phone from her pocket. If this was the end, if this was it... Afraid to call, she slowly tapped out a text.

_I love you, Dad. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to help._

The metal gate shuddered as Tad and his rage friends from Pan worked together, shaking and tugging at the bars in a coordinated effort. In a moment of delirious panic, she mused that the county board would be proud to see students from the two rival schools working together—even if their goal was homicide. 

_Then again, it’s my death, and I’ve been a pain in their ass for years. Maybe they’d still be impressed._

That gate wasn’t going to hold much longer. She had three choices: cower here and wait to die; fight the enraged teens infected with an unknown pathogen outside the store, or find a back door. As a Pan High jock took a running charge at the grate, she leaped to her feet.

_Back door it is!_

The emergency exit sign pointed her to the farthest corner of the computers section and she ran as fast as she could, ignoring the cramping in her side. An unmarked steel door hidden between the staff bathrooms seemed promising, but revealed itself as a supply closet. A side hallway behind the bathrooms led her to another door, also unmarked. She turned the handle and shoved—

Nothing. A pull yielded no movement, either. 

Staring at the access card reader beside the strike, she rolled her eyes. “Please tell me these assholes didn’t go with a fail secure system?”

A _fail secure_ system would mean that if the power was interrupted—and judging from the lack of red light, she assumed it was—that the access card readers would default to a locked state until it restored. Her worst possible scenario, and without a key for the lock, she was screwed.

_So, fighting the infected?_

A weapon was a must. Inside the Geek Squad office, she found a screw driver and a hammer. Precision and force. Creeping towards the front of the store, she assessed how dire matters were.

Pro: two of the Pan jocks had abandoned the gate.

Con: it was because they were beating a hapless man to death outside the store.

As Tad jerked the gate, still intent on her being the toy surprise inside this cereal box of a store, Veronica reached for her camera. If she was about to die—and the odds were pretty high, given the geyser of blood shooting up from the ground as the Pan jocks shrieked—she should document this. She should make damn sure that Dr. Preston, Dr. Tedesco and that entire lab rotted for creating… whatever this was.

_How can a virus do this?_

She filmed Tad first, zooming in on the blood trailing from his eyes, on his discoloured skin and his fury with the security gate. She held her breath as he pried two bars a half inch apart and growled. Sweeping the camera lower, she captured the Pan High jocks snapping the arm of a wailing victim in two.

“This is the direct result of an experimental pathogen developed by Dr. Preston and Dr. Tedesco at Erwich Laboratories in San Diego. The man shaking the grate is a classmate of mine. This is _not_ his normal behaviour. I watched him kill a man with his bare hands,” she narrated quietly. “This was released deliberately. It was developed for the military. I don’t know why.”

Her thumb hovered over the stop button but halted at the distant sound of shouts and faint static. _Radios? Police?_ Ducking behind a cell phone display, she let the camera record as Tad abandoned his best impression of a can opener and oriented to the east, flailing his arms at an unseen commotion.

As a volley of gunfire assailed him, jerking his body erratically, Veronica whimpered.

So many bullets. Too many, and yet, it took at least twenty for Tad to hit the ground, to relent and release the rage that drove him. Whatever virus had taken hold of him in the last hour, it had consumed all that had made him _Tad_ , leaving nothing but a shell filled with hatred and violence.

Veronica watched through her viewfinder as a team of ten officers in SWAT gear moved in, firing assault rifles with abandon and, to her disgust, a barely-disguised enjoyment. It was as if it were a game to them. As if these were not real people, with lives, hopes and dreams.

Worse still, they did not seem to check whether or not people were infected. They were firing at _anyone_ …making her a target.

Kneeling behind a rack of phone cases, she listened as men called out to each other, moving from store to store. The gate rattled to Best Buy, a casual shake of the door.

“Staff must have locked up,” someone shouted. 

“We clear?” another asked.

“I don’t see any more of them in here. Rest are gathered outside, headed on the buses to quarantine at the Air Base.”

 _Quarantine?_ Then why did they _shoot them?_

A third voice chimed in: “Not the sick ones…”

“Oh, fuck no! Just the ones who stampeded, but didn’t see anything. They’ll keep them a few days, make sure they test negative, then send them home. Tell them it was anthrax,” the first voice replied. “They’re lucky that doctor let this go in a mall instead of the beach. It could have been a disaster!”

Footsteps milled around, the familiar clicks of magazines being released and switched. Weapons reloaded, the chatter resumed.

“Shouldn’t we look around, see if there are any survivors?”

The first voice scoffed. “Are you kidding? Even if there are, they’re either infected or witnesses to a military weapon gone wrong and way too public. You think the President wants this getting out there? Our orders are clear, Rodriguez: the infection either kills the host or resolves within three weeks. We clear what we see, and we leave the rest for three weeks.”

_Three weeks?!_

“Fine. Fine, let’s go.”

Heavy, clomping steps retreated from Veronica’s position and she slowly rose from her hiding place, her body shaking with rage. She wanted to chase them down, to _demand_ they take her with them, but their conversation had made it clear that witnesses would not be tolerated by the government. She would disappear, be discredited, or worse. 

In the distance, she heard a rattling followed by a metallic bang she recognized. _The shutters._ They’d sealed off the east exits, leaving her no way out. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered wildly then dimmed. Beyond its confines, the mall was plunged into shadows, a scattering of pot lights all that combated them. 

She reached for her phone and frowned at the display: _No Service._ No WIFI, either. No reply from her father, and no lifeline to him, at least for the moment. 

Hugging her arms around her chest, Veronica felt a tear slide down her cheek. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where's Logan, you ask?
> 
> He'll be here... See you in chapter 2...


	2. Day One Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Veronica is having a DAY, and it's not over yet. Let's check in with her and see if we can make her a little more safe and secure in this lockdown.

**DAY ONE CONTINUES...**

Veronica allowed herself five minutes to be vulnerable. Five minutes to be scared, to cry, to feel sorry for herself. There was no sense in denying her emotions, and bottling them wouldn’t help. She’d learned that the hard way when her mother left. Eventually, someone would shake the bottle and the contents would explode at the worst possible moment.

Now was the time: safely locked behind a metal gate, alone in a shopping mall, left to die by the government.

Tears were shed as she sat on the floor, holding her head in her hands and staring at her cell phone. _No service,_ it mocked her. _No service._ No Dad, no Wallace, no Mac. _No service._ No one she could count on, except herself.

She scrolled through her emails—no longer refreshing, but the previously downloaded messages remained. _Evelyn Tedesco’s spending alerts_. Steven Preston had lied to her father. He had lied about Tedesco’s intentions, lied about the nature of their research, and he’d clearly had a way to track her himself—or had been alerted to her whereabouts and hadn’t bothered to call them in. _Fuck that guy._ He was on her shit list, along with the SWAT idiots who’d left her here, and Tedesco herself.

_Ahh, there it was…. Anger._ Fuel. Anger, she could work with. Anger had picked her up when her mother’s affairs had cost her father his job as the sheriff of Neptune. Anger kept her tongue razor-sharp when the 09’ers harassed her in the halls between classes. Anger untamed and unmanaged was destructive, but anger nurtured and controlled? It was a lifeline.

Dusting herself off, she rose to her feet and stared at the carnage beyond the storefront. _Make a list,_ she told herself. _Goals and needs_. 

Primary Goal: Escape Neptune Heights with as much evidence of this conspiracy as possible.

Primary Goal Two: Avoid physical harm, including contracting whatever the hell the pathogen was… if it wasn’t too late already.

It was safe to assume that escape was not readily at hand, which meant she had needs to take care of: a means of communication with her father, ideally, or the outside world in general; water; food; and a more secure place to hide from any other infected people lurking inside the mall. 

_Alright, Veronica. What’s first?_

The human body could survive without food for days, but water? Not so much. That would be a priority. Shelter was a must. Communication was highly desirable, but her father would return to Neptune in a few days, see the alerts in her Mars Investigations account and track her. 

She’d still try, but she wouldn’t risk her life for it.

The SWAT stooges had just mowed down everything in the food court across from her, making it momentarily safe. If there was a time to raid it, it was now.

Screwdriver in hand, she slowly flipped the lock mechanism on the security gate and released it, exposing herself to the mall at large. She held her breath and waited, listening for noise echoing off the walls. 

Nothing.

_No deep dives, no checking in back_ , she decided. She’d raid drink fridges and grab and go items up front, non-perishables she could stash at the Best Buy. Treat it like a base camp. 

Twenty nerve-wracking minutes. Six trips. Water bottles, Doritos, chocolates, protein bars and a single turkey and Swiss wrap, which she devoured as a celebration of her score behind the safety of her security gate. Her food and water cache was hidden in seven different cupboards in Best Buy, offering her the ability to dodge around the store in an emergency. It should last her at least five days, if she was careful to ration.

She tried not to think of the dozen or so bodies scattered around the food court, the white tile floor spattered in red. A Jackson Pollock tantrum, undeniable evidence of the horrors just an hour prior. Tried not to remember lifting her camera with shaking hands and snapping images, willing them to be untrue. 

She lifted the receiver on the checkout desk and cursed. The line was still dead—no dial tone, no operator message. She assumed the team clearing the mall had cut phone lines along with the power.

_Next mission: more secure shelter, and communication_. 

A shopping mall wasn’t exactly a haven for high-end communication devices, nor was it designed for bunkering down in an apocalyptic scenario. Malls were meant to beckon the bleating herd inside to drop their dollars on the latest trends. Spend more, think less. 

The frustrating fail-secure door in the rear of Best Buy sparked an idea, however. There was one place in the entire mall where it would be important to maintain access control _and_ communications in a crisis: the security office.

_Two birds, tired metaphor._

Packing two bottles of water in her purse, along with a couple protein bars, she again raised her security gate on Best Buy. As nice as it would be to stay here, Tad had proven the pathogen lent a certain super-strength to the infected. He’d already bent two bars apart. She didn’t care to be caught here if another swarm found her. 

To her left was a mall directory pillar, no longer lit up, but still useful with the help of her cell phone flashlight. The security office was on the upper level, she determined, to the southwest side. Not ideal, but she could work with it.

_I’m not taking the escalator stairs_ she immediately decided _._ While the most direct route, it would also bring her within steps of the Apple Store where Tedesco had unleashed her little gift upon the world. If any infected people remained, they were likely nearby.

A secondary staircase ran from the western entryway to the second floor, and it was this she decided she would take. Avoiding the eastern half of the mall seemed safest. A quick, quiet trek along the floor, dive down a side hallway and into a service corridor. 

The door would surely have a card reader, but being a vital room, she was counting on it having a key override. A Medeco key, most likely. Luckily, she had her lock picking kit in her bag, including the forever handy Medeco decoder. Once she’d broken in and determined it was a safer base camp, she could transfer her food rations to it in stages.

Make-shift mask secure, supplies in bag, she took a moment to stretch out her limbs and neck before heading out into the open mall.

With only the emergency pot lighting on, Neptune Heights took on a foreboding feel. Empty stores, their lights also dimmed, stood abandoned, storefront display racks overturned in the haste of fleeing patrons and staff. A streak of blood as wide as her hips trailed in a thin, wavy streak from William Sonoma towards a steel door behind the McDonald’s. A headless teddy bear, its blue coveralls torn, lay abandoned outside Build-A-Bear. 

_Now that’s just sad_. Fuck, she hoped no children were in the Apple Store when that pathogen was released.

As she passed Nordstrom, she hesitated, rethinking her decision. It was a big store, with many, many places to hide. A busy store, any day of the week. The Apple Store may have been ground zero, but SWAT had only cleared the food court. They had not entered any of the stores; they’d said so. She tentatively peeked around the corner, scanning the open areas in her line of sight.

No signs of movement. No blood.

_Shit, shit, shit._ She decided to move stealthy, but speedy, tiptoeing quickly to the staircase and ascending before her nerves frayed.

The upper western corridor was darker than below: its reliance on sky lighting panels and impending sunset meant little light to navigate by. Veronica mulled her cell phone’s flashlight, ultimately opting for stealth over sight. If any infected people were lurking inside stores, a light would call attention. Staying in shadow was safer.

She moved from pillar to pillar, shifting sideways through the darkness. The screwdriver was clutched tightly in her hand, a white knuckle grip as she scrutinized every window, searching for threats. It was a great strategy. A smart one. 

In her preoccupation with moving towards the security office, she forgot one thing: watching her ass.

She’d made it to Mac Cosmetics when she heard it: a high-pitched whine, hungry and primal. A chill ran down her spine as she slowly turned around, coming face to face with a disheveled and bloody Madison Sinclair. Her normally perfectly coiffed blonde hair was tangled and dirty, her blouse was untucked and missing a sleeve, and her jeans were spattered in blood and possibly, blue Slushie. 

“Fuck…”

Tad had taught her reason didn’t reach the minds of the infected, so Veronica didn’t waste her breath. Backpedalling slowly, she gauged her best retreat: the corridor for the security office was a good forty feet away and she would need time to pick the lock. That was out. Another corridor lay to the east just ahead, but it ran close to the Apple Store. 

Madison shrieked, advancing slowly. From within a suit store emerged two men dressed in what were surely the ugliest golf pants Veronica had ever seen: lime green and some horrendous shade of yellow that belonged in a dirty diaper. 

“Great, even as a zombie, she’s got men at her beck and call.” 

Well, it looked like she was out of options. Time to prove she could have run track in grade ten, if they’d given her the chance ( _screw you, Coach Murphy!_ ).

Her boots thumped loudly across the tiles as she veered diagonally towards the service corridor, fists pumping wildly. Breathing was difficult through her t-shirt mask and her lungs ached, but she ignored it. She ignored the shrieks and grunts behind her, ignored the rush of air that told her they were catching up. Her arm swung back wildly with the screwdriver and she grimaced as it _caught in something soft_ and someone ( _Were they still someones?_ ) wailed angrily. Blood dripped on her boot as she veered left—and jerked to a sudden stop. Her neck snapped backwards from the force as her bag snagged on something.

A fist. Golfer Guy In Lime Green Pants had snagged her bag and was reeling her in.

Veronica swung the screwdriver wildly, jamming it at his face. It lodged in his left eye and he screamed, loosening his grip just enough for her to stagger towards a perfumery. _Glass bottles. Flammable liquids._ She’d set this whole place on fire if she had to. Take it down with her.

Madison had been biding her time, it seemed. The pathogen clearly didn’t erase all personality traits: she was as keen to let others do her bidding as she was in school. She stalked closer now, with a look of disdain so familiar, Veronica nearly sobbed in relief. That, she could handle.

“Where’s your school spirit, Madison? You’re lacking a little… pep!”

Reaching behind her blindly, her hand closed around a glass bottle and she whipped it in Madison’s direction. Her Homecoming Queen growled as it shattered off her skull, tiny shards embedding in her forehead. Beneath the pot lights, they twinkled like the spikes of a cheap tiara.

Veronica circled and wove around tables in the perfumery, baiting Madison and Diaper Pants inside before darting back into the open corridor. Her left leg was cramping but she pushed on, pawing wildly inside her bag for the hammer she’d stolen. It was small and light, but it hit things, and with her screwdriver embedded in a man’s face, she was out of options. _C’mon, c’mon, c’mon_ …

Preoccupied and panicked, she missed the overturned recycling bin dead ahead and cursed as she skidded across the tiles. Her palms scraped against the dirty tile as she thumped against a window display for…

_Oh fuck, the Apple Store_. _Damn it, is that a bloody handprint on the window? FOCUS, VERONICA._

She watched as Lime Green Loser plodded closer, her screwdriver still protruding from his eye. Madison and Diaper Pants were regrouping, following his lead. Readying her hammer, Veronica pressed to her feet, inching herself towards the service corridor. If she could just move ten feet without getting caught… and lock the door… maybe…

_Dad, if I don’t make it, I hope you know I love you._

Lime Green Loser lunged and she screamed, swinging her hammer as she jerked away—and felt her body yanked violently to the right, down the corridor. She tried to swing, tried to kick, but her weapon was wrenched away.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m saving your ass!”

_Okay, they don’t talk_. But she didn’t feel much better, because she _knew that voice._

A metal trash lid flew out like a Frisbee, pinging off Lime Green’s skull as she was dragged towards a metal door and shoved roughly inside. A large shopping cart filled with paint cans whipped by her line of sight, colliding audibly with, she assumed, their attackers. Her rescuer backed inside with seconds to spare, flipping a dead bolt behind them with a satisfied smirk.

Fists pounded the door from outside, but it was solid. Safe.

As Veronica’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of her surroundings, she understood three things: she was in a service corridor; she was not the only survivor trapped in the mall; and she very much wanted her hammer back now.

“Logan Echolls,” she groaned, rubbing her temples. 

“Veronica Mars. Of all the shopping malls in all the world,” her rescuer quipped, lightly tossing her hammer from hand to hand.

“Thank you. Now give that back,” she demanded.

“Hmm, no. Finder’s fee.”

“How do you figure?”

He leaned against the concrete wall, eyeing her with amusement. “I found you about to get murdered. I stopped that murder. This is my fee.”

“Asshole. Typical 09’er, taking all the wealth from the middle class. Keep it. I don’t need it and I don’t need you.”

“Really? Should I let Madison and her caddies in for another round of golf?” 

Veronica ignored him, examining the corridor in each direction. To the west, it seemed to dead end where the mall ended, meaning no way to loop around to the security office. Useless to her. To the east… damn it, it looked pretty straight on, although it bent slightly.

“Veronica, I was kidding. What were you trying to do out there, anyway?”

“Why do you care?”

He tucked her hammer in the front pouch of his orange hoodie and shrugged. “Because if it involves getting the hell out of here, or finding a better place to hide than a hallway, I’m game.”

Veronica quickly weighed her pros and cons. Logan Echolls, the undisputed king of the 09’ers, was offering to help her. The son of movie stars, he was the one with quiet power in Neptune High: while he’d never bothered with student council, she knew he’d handpicked the candidates. Her life was hell at school, and nothing happened without his say so. She knew it.

He couldn’t be trusted. Huge con.

On the pro side… he had just saved her life. He’d managed to stay alive and stay hidden during the panic. Had the foresight to gather weapons to rescue her—to improvise. He competitively surfed for the high school team. These were all assets she could exploit.

_Do you really want to pick a lock while infected raging people roam the hall behind you?_

“Fine!” She threw up her hands, facing him. “I was trying to get to the security office. Comms and a more secure home base. Unless you have cell phone service?”

“Nope. Mine’s been dead since people started bashing each other into walls and gnawing on their arms like ribs at a buffet.” Logan mulled this over. “Security office is a good call for another reason: cameras. We can see how many friends Madison has out there. See if we can find ways to corral them to certain sections of the mall.”

Veronica kept her expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Does this corridor loop to the west?”

“Nah, it dead ends both ways. Went looking for a way out to ground. Seems like a serious fire hazard. There’s a door on the eastern side, but it won’t budge.”

“The SWAT pricks probably have it blocked,” Veronica mused.

Logan’s eyes widen. “Ah, so _those_ would be the ones responsible for the copious bullets fired about an hour ago?”

“One and the same. I’m surprised you didn’t come out and leave then.”

“I did.” His eyes narrowed. “They almost fucking shot me. I retreated here. What the hell is going on? Why have you and I been stranded in a shitty video game simulation?”

“It’s a long story. Security office first,” Veronica insisted. “The map said it was down a southwestern corridor near the food court. Any idea how close we are?”

Logan studied the corridor, counting doors. “About… five doors away. Give or take. You feeling lucky?”

“No.” She rolled her shoulders back, loosening them up. “I’m feeling _pissed_ , which is much more useful.”

His brown eyes twinkled as he gestured for her to follow him. “Now we’re speaking the same language. Alright, I have an idea…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello, AU enemies... you won't be for long. This is a casket fic. A quaranfluff.  
> Just you wait, bantering babies.  
> You're not leaving this mall until you're friendlier.
> 
> Reviews feed your author! Drop me a line.


	3. Day One Concludes - Day Two Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta  
> No Plan  
> No Sleep
> 
> If it's good enough for Veronica, it's good enough for me.  
> LET'S GO!

**DAY ONE CONCLUDES…**

“This plan is either a stroke of genius or it’s going to get us killed.”

“You have a better idea?” Logan countered.

“Yup. Give me back my damn hammer and let me sneak over there. You, being the loud jackass you are, do what you do best: annoy them. Guaranteed distraction.”

He was visibly frustrated as he paced the narrow corridor behind The Big Clock, the terribly-named clock and watch repair shop on the eastern corner of the upper floor. Veronica, too, was frustrated, and her mask was making her face itchy and hot. She desperately wanted to take it off, but she had no idea where Logan was when Tedesco’s pathogen was released. 

_I am not dying for Logan fucking Echolls_.

“Look, I don’t know what you have against me—“

“You mean, other than making every day at school a living hell?” she snapped. “Forget that, it gives you too much credit. For _trying_ to make every day at school a living hell, and failing.”

Logan’s eyes flashed dark as he backed her against a wall. “I haven’t said more than thirty words to you in four years!”

“You haven’t had to! They all listen to you. If they’re being shitty to me, it’s with your permission. I’m sorry my mother is one of _many_ women your dad screwed, but that’s also on him.”

And there it was: she’d laid it bare. Her mother’s affairs were no secret in Neptune, but her most scandalous transgression was being caught _in flagrante_ with Aaron Echolls at their annual Christmas party, by Lynn Echolls herself.

Logan laughed darkly, running a hand through his hair. “You think that I… what, am blaming you for something Father Dearest and your mother did? And I’ve organized the school against you, is that it?”

“Pretty much.” Pivoting on her heel, she stormed down the corridor, retreating to where Logan had pulled her inside. “Forget this. I got this far alone. I’ll figure the rest out alone, too.”

“Veronica, wait!”

His hand was on her wrist, and she seethed, wrenching it away. “Don’t.”

“Are people seriously holding that against you?” He was beside her now, matching her pace. “Hey, can you lose the mask and _talk to me_? I feel like I’m arguing with Darth Vader.”

“You could be infected, so no. And don’t tell me you haven’t seen them. You’ve been there when it happens: the laughing, the pointing…”

“What, at lunch?” Logan rolled his eyes. “You know, you do enough for your own reputation, right? Your casework is entertaining for those idiots.”

She was back at that steel door now, her fingers hesitating on the bolt. “What?”

“You’re like… a weird-ass superhero to them. Maybe they say stuff when I’m not around, and if they do, I’ll handle that if we get out of here without turning into zombies or being locked in a lab somewhere. But Veronica… they don’t say bad shit about you,” he insisted, covering her hand with his. “Not around me.”

There was a strange intensity to those three words: _not around me_. His hand was soft, his thumb brushing the side of her palm and sending a shiver down her spine. A lightning storm. As she met his gaze, the concern she read in his eyes told her to believe him.

_Maybe there are things the king of Neptune High doesn’t know?_

“Fine.”

A scraping on the door startled her and she staggered sideways into Logan’s chest. Her cheeks burned hot as he led her away, murmuring about _Madison_ and _golfers_.

“So… the clocks?” he prodded.

Resigning herself to what would possibly be the worst idea ever, she threw up her hands. “The clocks. But first, we need weapons. Where can we get some?”

“There’s baseball bats in a store just down there,” Logan replied, gesturing west. “Let’s go.”

“How do you have this mall memorized?”

Logan led them three doors down, pressing his ear to the steel. “When being home is…not ideal, you find places to be. Why do you think I knew exactly where to hide when shit went all _The Last Of Us_?” He cracked his knuckles and smirked. “Alright, sounds clear. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“What? No way!”

He pulled her hammer from his hoodie, holding it overhead. “I have no plans to die today.”

She didn’t know what she hated more: the fact he was being a _man_ and leaving her behind, or the fact she got his stupid Thor joke.

Ninety-seven seconds passed—she counted them—and he returned, hefting two aluminum bats. “For you,” he announced, passing one with a flourish. “Now, I may not be an expert, but I’m pretty sure a hit to the ol’ brain does the trick in the movies.”

Veronica admired her new toy, giving it a practice swing. “They don’t go down easy. I Tased Tad twice and he barely stumbled.”

“Took a licking and kept on ticking? Speaking of, time’s a-wasting. Let’s go ring a dinner bell.”

* * *

Logan’s plan was a two-stage process:

Step One: set several alarm clocks to go off at the same time, creating a commotion in the store to draw Madison, her new friends and any other infected wanderers as far east as possible.

Step Two: return to the door where she and Logan had met, move swiftly across to the southwestern corridor and breach the security office.

“This could be a disaster,” Veronica muttered. “What if there are fifty of them?”

“Better we find out now than when you’re picking a lock in a dead-end hallway, right?” Logan examined an antique clock, frowning. “Nah, this one won’t stop chiming. We need ones that will eventually silence.”

Veronica discreetly slipped two small clocks inside her bag and continued programming the rest on the shelf. “Should we maybe set one off a couple minutes early? See if they even care to come look?”

Logan pondered this, a digital clock in the shape of a hamburger in his hand. “Good call. The last one we set, we’ll set it earlier.”

Thirty clocks later, they were prepped and ready for their experiment. Logan found one last alarm clock, a basic black with an iPod dock, and programmed it. Setting it on the table near the store’s entrance, he clutched his bat tightly.

“One minute.”

In her head, Veronica counted to sixty slowly, waiting for the buzzer. Logan stood in front of her and to her left, offering him a vantage point of the western corridor.

“Madison and her boy toys are still circling the shopping cart. Once they fixate, seems like they go a little stupid,” he observed.

“Madison was never exactly Mensa, but you’re right: Tad and his Pan High friends wouldn’t stop until SWAT put them down—“

The alarm began to buzz, a high-pitched, grating noise. Veronica grimaced, stepping backwards.

“If that doesn’t make them want to kill…”

Logan held up a finger, craning his neck. “Wait for it… Madison is looking. Oh, Her Highness is _not_ pleased. Someone is remembering her beauty sleep being disturbed.”

“Are they coming?”

“Shit, yes they are! GO, GO!”

Veronica bolted for the back of the store, Logan close on her heels. Throwing open the door, she held it for him, ushering him through with her bat. As she slammed the heavy steel door shut, she caught a glimpse of Madison staggering into The Big Clock, eyes wide, teeth bared.

“Thirty seconds,” Logan whispered. 

They backed away from the store slowly, listening as within its walls, the buzzing of the alarm was joined by the shrieks and grunts of Madison and the Golfers. They’d made it past the Apple Store when the cacophony hit: thirty alarms simultaneously chimed, buzzed, and clanged, beckoning forth all remaining infected to the eastern entrance of the mall.

“How long do you think it will take to lure them all in?” Logan asked her.

“They move fast, but the sound is carrying… I don’t know.”

Veronica frowned, turning away. She _hated_ not knowing something.

Logan tapped her shoulder eagerly. “Do you hear that?”

She cocked her head, listening intently. It was faint, but if she strained to hear it… footsteps. Moving fast, beyond the walls of their windowless hiding space. Moving towards the clock shop.

“How many?” she whispered.

“Ten?” Logan guessed. “Yeah, ten, at least.”

They moved into position, waiting by their exit point as the infected shrieked, groaned and stomped past them, oblivious to their existence. It told Veronica something: they were still human. They weren’t sniffing around for other people, tracking them like bloodhounds. As the stomping quieted down, Logan rolled his neck and readied his bat.

“Corridor is diagonally to our left. Security office is straight down, make a left, second door on the right.”

“How do you know?”

“Might have been arrested once or twice by the Rent-A-Cops,” he replied sheepishly. “Who knew you couldn’t skateboard down the escalators?”

Veronica laughed in spite of herself. “I feel like this was a Dick Casablancas idea.”

“It was mine, but Dick was in on it. He dislocated his elbow. Still said it was the best day of that summer.” Shaking himself, Logan flipped the bolt open. “Stay behind me until we’re at the door.”

He counts them silently into the fray with his fingers. _One, two…_ and they’re off.

The side hallway is mercifully empty as they quietly approach the main mall corridor. Logan holds up a hand, peeking to the east, then the west.

“West looks good,” he whispers. “Clock store looks busy. Be quick and quiet.”

Veronica gauged the distance across the corridor. Fifty feet, maybe. She could do this. She nodded to Logan and tightened her grip on her bat as they moved.

Logan’s instincts matched her own: he kept to shadows, darting behind pillars, scanning east and west as they paused behind each marble-tiled monstrosity. While a small part of her seethed at his insistence in taking the lead, her rational brain surrendered. After all, he knew where the office was, right? She only had a rough idea. Better to let him lead for the sake of efficiency.

She wouldn’t let it become a habit.

An ear-piercing howl from the clock store gave them pause, Logan pulling her behind the last pillar that afforded them meager cover before the dash to the security hallway. Pressing his finger to his lips, he peered around the corner. Veronica held her breath, leaning into his chest reluctantly to keep herself concealed.

“Two of them are fighting,” he whispered. “They’re not looking, but it’s getting restless. We need to go.”

“Count of three,” she murmured.

She held up three fingers, ignoring the shuddering of her palm. One down, two… and they scurried across to safety. 

“Where is it?” Veronica hissed.

He waved her to the left, the two of them sprinting on the balls of their feet towards a set of double doors mercifully marked _Mall Security_. No tricks, no lies. Veronica plunged her hand inside the side pouch of her messenger bag, where she’d prepped her lock picking gear for easy access.

Logan glanced nervously down the hallway. “How long?”

“With this bad boy? Five minutes max, likely less.”

Logan drifted down the hallway, glancing back at her. “Not trying to rush, but… there’s at least twenty people who’d like to crash our skulls together.” 

_Medeco. The predictability of corporations made her life so much easier!_ While they were difficult to pick on their own, she found her decoder guide from years of practice sped things up. One look at the lock and she was relieved: it was the basic M3, a model that was faulty enough that lock picking blogs had managed to defeat the slider with a paper clip. Which meant with a little bit of wire and one of her shims, she might be able to skip the whole process of rotating pins and just…. open the door.

Her fingers worked the metal swiftly, contorting it into a precise geometric shape from memory. With a little wiggle and an adjustment… _YES. Hard part’s over._ Next, a shim. She carried several on hand, intended for locks of different sizes and shapes. The first was too big, by miles. Holding it to her decoder card, its failure told her the lock _had_ to be one other model… which meant her smallest shim should work.

“Please work…”

With a little jiggling, it popped into place and turned, the mechanism clicking softly. Veronica nudged the door open, beaming. 

“Logan,” she hissed. “Come on!”

He hurried to her side, staring at the shim and the open door in turn. “Skeleton key?”

“Something like that.”

“Like I told you: weirdo superhero.” As he moved past her into the office, he paused and grinned. “I like it.”

Slipping her tools inside her bag, she shut the door behind him and surveyed the room. “This is a _security office_?”

“Well, this is a mall in the 90909. Only the finest facilities for slapping the rich kids on the wrist, as you can see,” Logan quipped. “I’m pretty sure Dick and I were given a charcuterie board while we waited for our parents.”

The office, on first blush, was larger than Mars Investigations, and to her right, she could see another room branching off. A console desk to their left housed a wall of monitors controlled by three keyboards and matching mice, offering an array of camera views of Neptune Heights. Several phones and a radio were mounted on the desk. A desk to her right was strewn with paperwork—a supervisor’s area, perhaps. To the rear of the space, she noticed a water cooler and…

“Is that a mini-fridge?”

“Charcuterie board,” Logan repeated, winking. “We should check that hall over there.”

“ _Hall_?”

She stepped further into the office, joining Logan in the centre of the space. The branch to the right wasn’t a room: it was a narrow hallway, with what appeared to be at least _three_ more rooms. 

They made swift work of the hallway, locating a bathroom with a shower ( _why do security guards need a shower?_ ), a storage room and a kitchenette with another fridge, a sink, a scattering of dishes, a toaster and a Keurig.

“I thought this was a decent idea for a base camp, but… damn!”

“Much better than pacing a hallway,” Logan agreed as they returned to the main office. “What now?”

“Toss the drawers for any keys marked Medeco. Let’s see if we can find the real key for this place. I’ll try the phones and radio.”

Logan moved to the supervisor’s desk, yanking open drawers while she lifted each phone in turn, jamming every outbound line button. Silence. _Didn’t think so_. The government was thorough. The radio was off, which she found odd, given the supposed hurry with which everyone fled.

_Unless mall security helped locked us in here._

Flipping on the switch, the room was filled with chatter: patrol call-outs, random blabber, and requests for breaks. She tried to key in, but it wouldn’t register. Switching channels, she found nothing but static and a faint whistling. A subtle jamming.

“Found keys,” Logan announced, jangling a ring.

“Glad one of us has good news. They’re jamming radio frequencies.”

Logan handed her the key ring, depressing the talk button several times in frustration. “I see what you mean. Interference. But, we do have cameras…”

He ran a hand over his head, studying the five screens intently before focusing on the farthest to their right. With a few mouse clicks, he’d enlarged a feed that offered them a glimpse at The Big Clock. As Veronica watched the crowd jostle and shove, her heart sank.

“Well… it could be worse.”

“How?” she snapped.

“We could be out there, with…. about twenty people infected with a virus that turns them maroon and murderous.”

“I wanted to go back out there. I have food stashed. Water. We need to get the hell out of this mall, Logan. There’s nobody coming for us. You know that, right?”

He stripped out of his hoodie, tossing the orange beacon of a garment on a leather chair. “I was getting the impression, but clearly you know more than I do.”

“Long story short, the fun little virus unleashed here today was being developed for chemical warfare. This Hulk Smash behaviour? An unfortunate side effect. A research scientist went rogue, and now they want to hide the evidence.” Slumping in the chair beside him, Veronica swung her legs from side to side. “Where were you when the screaming began?”

“I was in Game Stop, looking for VR games. When shit hit the fan, I ran for the back hallways and hid. I have seen enough movies to recognize the signs.”

Her face was sweaty, the t-shirt was starting to smell from it, and she wanted to _breathe_ and _talk_ normally at some point tonight. The pathogen seemed to work fast, and she’d been with Logan for over an hour now. 

Tugging off her mask, she drew a deep breath. _So much better_.

Logan sunk into the chair beside her, spinning in a circle. “So, I passed your trust exercise?”

Reclining back, Veronica rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of sweating. If we were infected, we’d be ripping each other’s arms off by now.” 

With his hoodie removed, she was noticing how muscular Logan’s arms were beneath his plain black tee. _Did surfing do that?_ Feeling flushed, she peeled off her denim jacket, leaving herself in her forest green tank top and jeans. 

_Stupid mask_. Because that’s what it was. The heat from the mask.

“It’s late evening, it’s dark out there without the lights, and we have water and the worst reality show ever to watch,” Logan mused, gesturing to the CCV. “We should probably lock down here tonight and regroup in the morning, when we have sunlight on our side.”

Veronica sighed deeply, staring at the screen. “Giving them a night after the alarms stop… Maybe they’ll spread out and we can get my stash from Best Buy.”

She moved to the supervisor’s desk, shoving the papers aside and adjusting the chair so her feet could prop upon it. _Yeah, this’ll work._ She’d fallen asleep on car rides before. She could sleep here. Her eyes fluttered closed and exhaustion sunk in. _Adrenaline crash_.

A warm hand squeezed her shoulder and she startled. “Huh?”

“Sorry,” Logan murmured. “Found some emergency blankets in storage. Brought you one.”

“Thank you.” She took the silver sheet from him, tucking it over her torso. “That’s… Thanks.”

She watched him settle into the chair in front of the cameras, propping his feet on the security desk in a mirror of her repose. He tugged his hoodie over himself and swivelled just enough to see her.

“Goodnight, Veronica.”

“Goodnight, Logan.”

* * *

**DAY TWO**

“Oh, shit! I found something cool! Veronica, come here.”

Cold pizza in hand, she wandered over to Logan, who had been fiddling around with the access control computer for the last hour. _Kudos, security staff of Neptune Heights, for leaving your passwords taped under a desk... and for leaving half a pizza in the fridge._ It had made for a pleasant breakfast in an awkward, confined space with her…

Was Logan her enemy? Frenemy? _Acquaintance_ , she decided. _Temporary companion_.

“Whatcha got?”

“The centre of the mall, including the food court, features a fire shutter system,” Logan explained, gesturing to a map on screen. “If there’s a major fire in a restaurant, they engage with a timed warning to contain the damage. There are manual controls for it, though.”

“Just the ground floor?”

“No, both.” Logan pushed back from the desk with a twinkle in his eye. “If we can bait them down there somehow, maybe by tripping a fire alarm, we could drop the shutters and—“

“No more infected roaming the mall,” Veronica finished. “No fire alarm. That might draw the government’s attention. I’m surprised SWAT didn’t come running when the clocks went off last night. But speaking of…”

She crossed the room to her bag, pulling out the mini alarm clocks she’d pilfered the day before. Logan’s hand slapped the desk in surprise as she finished her pizza slice.

“You took clocks. Why?”

Veronica swallowed her final bite, licking marinara off her fingertips. “For a moment exactly like this. Let me check something on the fire panel.”

A quick survey of the zones confirmed that she could do exactly what she wanted: a PA announcement straight to the food court, and nowhere else. _Perfect._ They wouldn’t even need to leave their hideaway.

“Watch the cameras and be ready to drop those shutters,” she ordered him, grabbing the radio and adjusting the volume low. “Let’s ring their bell, one more time.”

As the alarm began to buzz, Veronica flipped the switch for the zone matching the food court on the posted map and keyed the mic on. It was dreadful, like holding a weed whacker in your palm, but she kept her focus, waiting for Logan to call her off.

“They’re moving… Five of them already there… I see a few upstairs… Few more downstairs, western side…They’re drifting over.”

“Any near us?”

“None.”

She nudged the volume up slightly, gritting her teeth. The infected swarmed faster now, congregating in the food court near the water fountain. One man shoved a woman into the water, frustrated with the sound or lack of brain to bash in. 

“Hey, you! Hungry?” she taunted over the PA.

“Ooh, they didn’t like that,” Logan told her. “I don’t see any others wandering the mall.”

“How many?” she demanded.

Logan hesitated, his finger moving about. “Twenty-two? They’re so packed in, hard to see.”

“Drop the shutters.”

With a few clicks, Veronica and Logan sat back and watched as wall by wall, the infected were penned in, just as he’d described. She kept the alarm buzzing, adding a taunt or two until the last shutter slid into place, completing the hexagonal structure.

Her thumb was stiff, her ears hurt, but… they’d caught them.

Grabbing their keys and the bats, they cautiously stepped out into the hallway and ventured to the centre of the mall, examining their handiwork. The shutters stretched to the ceiling of the second floor, perfectly partitioning the infected behind a fireproof wall. From behind its insulated steel, the shrieks and bangs of an angry crowd could be heard.

“To quote a famous mall queen, _I think we’re alone now_ ,” Logan sang, twirling in a circle.

“A huge improvement over yesterday,” she agreed. “We should still be cautious. SWAT could come back, or there could be a straggler.”

Logan shrugged, heading back towards the security office. “One, I can handle. Twenty-something? That’s a cotillion of chompers and I’ve spent my life avoiding _all_ cotillions.”

“What, debutantes aren’t your style?”

Pausing outside the office door, Logan smiled. “I was always more of a comic book guy, myself.”

Veronica shook her head, puzzled by his comment. _What does that even mean?_ It was too early to puzzle it out. She needed coffee…and maybe more pizza.

“Hey, Veronica? Question for you…”

“Hmm?”

“Should the fire panel be blinking like that?”

She glanced over at the panel, alarmed to see several orange lights blinking rapidly. “That shouldn’t be the shutters…”

She cross-referenced the zone map quickly, confirming it: the lights were assigned to zone 11. The upstairs food court, off the eastern corridor. _Trouble, trouble, smoke….SMOKE?_

“Oh, shit. Logan, does the upstairs food court have shutters too?”

A few rapid clicks, a smack of the keyboard. “Nothing. Why?”

“Oh, you know… because I think it’s on fire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time in our Cardboard Castle: one of the many zany tags on the story will make sense!


	4. Day Two Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear all my tags make sense.... and one's about to make more sense....
> 
> I also pray my lack of beta doesn't render this total trash. BEAR WITH ME. It's Trope-a-palooza and we must SAVE THE TROPES.

**DAY TWO CONTINUES…**

Logan spun the chair around to face her. “What do you mean by _on fire_?”

“The blinking lights? One of them is a smoke alarm.” She tapped the orange square in zone 11 nervously. “See?”

“But not _fire_. Smoke, right?” he probed.

Veronica scanned the board, relieved to see the red light for _Fire_ was not lit. “No fire alarm yet.”

“Exactly. No sirens, no sprinklers… This is good,” Logan mumbled, his attention returning to the wall of security screens. “This is good.”

“How is a fire _good_?”

“Not a fire, Veronica. A _potential_ fire, or something else, like those SWAT assholes trying to smoke us out.”

Veronica approached the security console, watching as Logan magnified several views of the upper level. “Are you serious? But why?”

“Well, we did just make a fuck of a lot of noise in here…” In the central monitor, the main food court filled the screen. “Our guests are still confined.”

“It’s the other—“

“Looking for SWAT,” Logan rebuked her. “The shutters would draw attention. Alright, the smaller food court is right next to Guess… Here.”

A new image filled the screen: darkened storefronts, with an abandoned shopping bag in the doorway of Guess. Jeans spilling from within, their denim legs tentacle-like. A partial view of Victoria’s Secret. The sushi shop, with grab and go offerings surely growing rancid. _Ugh, we should deal with those fast_ , Veronica thought.

“No SWAT, no stragglers, no smoke,” Logan concluded. “We’ll move store to store, look for a source. I’m not getting shot at again.”

His hand trembled as he clicked and dragged the mouse and her chest ached. For a moment, she imagined herself at the top of the escalator, or stepping out of Best Buy, trusting she would be rescued. She could have easily done so. Would have, if her father was still sheriff. Unsure of what to say or do, she gently patted his shoulder.

“We don’t take chances,” she agreed.

Logan cleared his throat, pulling up a new camera view. “Um… this is the next view…. Wait, what’s that?”

Veronica leaned in as Logan fiddled with the keyboard and controls. It was an image of the small pizzeria, a Taco Bell and the Orange Julius… _Huh._ There was something odd about the countertop of the smoothie chain. As the image zoomed in, Veronica coughed in surprise.

“That’s not…”

“I _know that bong_ ,” Logan groaned. “Fuck, where are you?”

“Logan? Talk to me,” she demanded.

“One second.” 

His attention was diverted to a secondary monitor now, where sixteen views of the mall rapidly refreshed. Running his finger along the screen, he paused on the second row and slapped the monitor.

“Found the smoke,” he announced, rising to his feet.

“Is it a fire?”

“Not yet, but we should hurry.” Hefting his bat over his shoulder, Logan rolled his eyes. “And maybe bring the fire extinguisher from the kitchen.”

Logan refused to elaborate on what he’d seen—or how he recognized a specific _bong_ on a grainy security image—despite Veronica’s increasingly irate interrogation. They’d abandoned the fire extinguisher, choosing self-defense, and were hurriedly moving east down the main mall corridor. At every store, they cautiously paused, peering inside in search of a stray infected shopper who’d missed the breakfast bell. To Veronica’s relief, no groans or shrieks greeted them.

The smell of smoke—and burnt peanuts—was the first sign of something amiss.

Veronica noticed it as they rounded the corner towards Orange Julius, pausing long enough to notice the store was in a state of disarray: aside from the glass bong shaped like a pineapple, a blender of orange froth was overturned on the counter, dripping onto the floor. Veronica’s skin crawled as creamy orange foam plummeted to the black tile.

 _Drip. Driiiiip. Driiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip_.

“This looks… fresh,” she whispered.

“I may have spoken too soon after caging our friends,” Logan admitted. “Follow your nose.”

“To what, the fire at the Skippy factory?” she muttered. “That smell is _foul_.”

Logan chuckled darkly. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?”

Swinging her bat at her side, Veronica huffed. “This place is a magnet for everyone and everything I hate. I avoid it like the plague Dr. Tedesco unleashed yesterday.”

As they curved around to the left, Logan shook his head. “Then you are missing out on what is normally the greatest joy of the second floor: Mrs. Fields’ Cookies. There’s your smoke alarm, Mars.”

Veronica’s eyes widened at the tufts of grey smoke wafting from a convection oven behind the counter of the bright red cookie stand. The countertop was dotted in gooey globs of what appeared to be raw cookie dough, and as they drew closer, she noticed an overturned tub of chocolate chips spilled across the cash register. The stainless steel door that Veronica assumed led to the rear of the shop was smeared in chocolate.

“What the hell?” she muttered.

“Those cookies do _not_ smell tasty, bro!” a voice yelled from the back of the store.

“Was it ten minutes or twenty, dude?” another voice called out.

“Ten!”

A hysterical giggle. “Aww man, that’s not good.”

The stainless steel door swung open, revealing a disheveled blonde in a red apron spattered with chocolate syrup and flour. His eyes were bloodshot and searching wildly as his oven-mitts clapped together like seal flippers.

“Dude, they’re burning!”

“Cajun cookies!” a voice screeched from the back. 

Veronica cursed loudly beneath her breath. _No, no fucking way._

Logan Echolls? Not her first pick to spend three weeks in a quarantine with, but he’d quickly proven himself to be resourceful and… less of an asshole than she’d thought. But there was a zero percent chance she would survive three weeks with Dick Casablancas and _not_ feed him to the infected in the food court.

Oblivious to their presence, Dick opened the door of the oven, coughing as he yanked out a tray of what were once cookies involving peanut butter, judging from the stench. Now, they were hardened charcoal discs resembling the briquettes she and her dad used for camping trips in her youth.

Rapping his bat on the counter, Logan chuckled. “Need a little help, Dick?”

Dick spun in their direction and Veronica stepped backwards, avoiding the scalding hot tray arcing through the air. “Logan? DUDE! Did they lock you in here, too? Wait, I didn’t see you at Sean’s party yesterday.” Shoving the hot tray of decimated cookies on the pass-through, Dick yanked off the oven mitts and rushed around the counter. “’Sup! You hungry? I think I got this cookie thing now. Lemme get another tray.”

“I wasn’t at the party yesterday.” Logan held up a hand, silencing the energetic ramble. “Dick, why are you baking cookies?”

“When the mall’s alarm clock went off—why is that thing so early? I mean, if the mall’s closed, who’s it waking up? The janitor? Anyway, after smoking a bowl from Pineapple Express, we got hungry. _Obviously_.”

“Wake and bake,” Veronica groaned.

“See? Veronica Mars gets it. Hey, why’s she here?”

“She’s locked in, Dick. You seem really calm, considering what happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” a voice called out from behind them. 

The silver door swung open, and Veronica laughed softly. The bong should have tipped her off immediately, in retrospect. Neptune High’s resident stoner, known best as “Corny”, was eating a spoonful of raw cookie dough and smoking an exceptionally large joint.

“Yes, Corny, _yesterday_ ,” Veronica chimed in, her voice overly saccharine. “You do remember when we were all quarantined inside this mall due to the release of an experimental virus, right?”

Corny blinked slowly, staring at Dick. Dick shrugged and shook his head.

“You _do_ remember people running around in a panic, don’t you?” she tried again.

“Nuh uh,” Corny replied. “Everything was chill. We had our snacks, and those TVs were _sweet_.”

“Dude, that jellyfish was _freaky_!” Dick blurted out.

“Yo, when that like, lion roared? And he tackled the gazelle and was like, ‘ _You’re my meal now’_? It was like he was jumping out and making _us_ his meal.”

“Wait, wait a minute,” Logan snapped, waving his arms. “Dick, what did you guys do at Sean’s party?”

“We took these killer shrooms. Or LSD. Maybe both? Anyway, Corny said the 3D TVs at the mall were cool when that shit kicked in, so we took an Uber here and went to the Sony Store until they made us stop petting the tigers.”

“Then we took a nap, remember?” Corny added, hefting a cookie tray onto the counter. “I’m so hungry, bro. We gotta bake.”

Veronica glanced at Logan, rubbing her face in exasperation. “Did these two seriously _sleep_ through the beginning of a viral outbreak?”

“Sleep Number beds at Nordstrom!” Corny enthused. “Special display. Totally worth the dollars, Veronica. Next time you have a rich client, you should get paid in a Sleep Number bed.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Watching Corny glob cookie dough onto the tray, she grimaced. “Here, let me help you. Those will never bake right.”

“Sweet!”

Veronica quickly set the tray up for two dozen double chocolate cookies, ignoring Corny’s appreciative _oohs_ and _yums_. She did make a point of muttering that six of the cookies were hers as a baking fee as she shoved the tray into the oven and set the timer. She wasn’t high—at least, she didn’t _think_ she’d picked up a contact high from Corny’s joint—but the stress of Dick’s incessant rambling was waking up her sweet tooth.

_Oh God, I cannot share that security office with these clowns!_

“So wait… There’s like… ZOMBIES?”

Veronica leaned over the counter, watching as Logan tried to explain the very real danger they were in to Jay and Not-So-Silent Bob.

“They’re not dead, Dick. They’re infected, and whatever it is, it makes them want to kill people, and it makes them strong,” Logan continued patiently.

“So like, the rage zombie kind?” Corny asked, offering his joint to Logan.

“I’m good, thanks. And not really, because they’re not dead.” Logan groaned. “They’ll be back to normal in a few weeks.”

“Or we can build weapons and kill them now,” Dick countered. “This is like Dead Rising. Dude, you’re just carrying a bat? Get some nails for that thing and make it spiky like a porcupine!”

Logan met her bemused stare with a pleading one. _Help me_ , he mouthed.

Veronica shook her head and smirked. Dick was his jackass of a friend. He could rein him in.

“Hey, where did you sleep last night?” Dick asked Logan.

“Veronica and I locked ourselves in the security office.”

As the timer chimed on the oven, Veronica reached for a pair of oven mitts—but not before she noticed Dick make an obscene gesture that _definitely_ implied sexual activities involving spanking. She felt rage brewing within, but bit her tongue as Logan glared at him and drew a finger across his throat.

 _“They don’t say bad shit about you. Not around me.”_

Logan was telling the truth yesterday, it seemed.

Opening the oven, Veronica had to admit the smell of freshly-baked cookies was a welcome one. “Well, I may not be Mrs. Fields, but I make damn good cookies,” she declared, shifting the tray to the pass-through.

“Pack them to go. We’ve been out here too long,” Logan called out.

“Agreed.” 

The cookies were hot and needed to set, but she managed to carefully transfer them to two boxes: one for the stoners, and one for her and Logan. Brushing her hands off on her jeans, she reached for her bat and nodded to Logan.

“Let’s head back.”

They detoured first to Orange Julius to reunite Corny with his beloved Pineapple Express: a pineapple-shaped glass orb filled with tinted water, topped with green glass leaves peaking in a mouthpiece. He cradled it close to his chest, humming the theme song to Spongebob Squarepants as they headed back towards the security office.

Veronica gestured to the heavy aluminum barrier up ahead, currently keeping the infected corralled. “So, when you two passed the shuttered food court filled with grumbling infected people… you just walked on by?”

Corny shrugged. “People get stuck in places all the time. They weren’t asking for help, so maybe they were working on important stuff in there. Like a darkroom, where you gotta close the door to make a picture.”

“But the screaming… and the gunshots… Logan, _why_?”

He gently taps his forehead with the handle of his bat. “I know. _I know._ ”

She bowed her head close to Logan as they fell back, allowing Dick and Corny to laugh at the half-naked mannequins at American Eagle Outfitters. “Granted, I have never taken shrooms, LSD or a combination of the two, but they _slept_ through yesterday?”

“Let’s just be grateful they weren’t killed in their sleep.”

“Grateful? I can’t spend days locked in a security office with Dick Casablancas,” she hissed. “He’s a grade-A jackass.”

Logan halted and held out an arm to block her path. “Well, who says we have to stay there? The mall is ours… and apparently, it has Sleep Number beds.”

“Stragglers—“

“Which is why we’ll do a store to store today.” Logan leaned to his right, sighing deeply. “Dick, you can’t bring that to the office.”

Veronica spun around in time to see Dick wrenching an arm off a mannequin. “Mannequins are a standard weapon in Dead Rising, Logan! You’ll thank me later when I’m kicking zombie ass with these arms.”

“If you want to kick ass, shouldn’t you be stealing the legs?” Veronica taunted.

“She’s totally right, Dick,” Corny agreed.

Veronica snickered as they changed gears, laying the mannequin down and tugging on its legs. Logan plucked the cookie box from her grasp and opened it.

“Thanks to your genius idea, we’ll be here a while. Cookie?”

Taking the largest one from the top, she grinned. “Did you consider this was my plan all along?”

“The office is—“

“Another three minutes from here and I’ve waited through two rounds of contemplating precisely _who lives in a pineapple under the sea_ and stupid questions about video games. _Ohmahgawd!_ ” Veronica moaned in happiness as the cookie melted in her mouth. “Mmmmmm!”

Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head as he swallowed a bite of cookie. “Almost as good as sex.”

 _Almost as good as sex?_ Oh, great. Now he’d said it, her mind was in the gutter, thinking about sex. Specifically, about how she’d only had sex with one guy and it had been terrible. She called him the twenty-pump chump and when she’d dared to demand he do something for her, he’d been so put out by the demand, she’d given up asking. 

Was Logan Echolls good in bed? _Arrgh, why am I even thinking this?_ Probably because the asshole was licking his fingers clean of chocolate while she was thinking of how she’d never had decent oral sex. _Goddamn it, Veronica, get it together!_ _Quarantine makes people weird. That’s all this is. Fear hormones and…. Whatever._

“Woo! Got my legs!” Dick chortled.

As they watched Dick and Corny sword fighting with two mannequin limbs, Logan rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Somewhere, Ms. Hauser is enjoying her revenge for me being excused from that screaming baby doll project,” he muttered.

“At least the baby stayed in the car seat,” Veronica agreed. “Wait, how did you get out of that bullshit? I was stuck with mine during midterms!”

“Tip from my sister Trina: sign up for the end of the year, when no one else wants it. They always break by then. You get to write a bullshit paper on a parenting topic instead.” As Dick and Corny made Star Wars lightsaber noises, Logan sighed. “This karmic retribution is making me wish I’d taken the doll.”

“Harold, Kumar! Time to go to our cookie castle!” Veronica snapped. 

Logan nudged her shoulder playfully as he turned towards the security corridor. “On the bright side, there are clearly no stragglers on this side of the mall?”

“Please don’t give them credit for being useful.” She swung her bat at Dick as he passed, narrowly missing his leg. “Hurry up. Being exposed like this is danger—“

_BANG!_

From across the mall’s broad main corridor, somewhere beyond the storefronts, a booming sound startled the group. Logan stepped in front of them, cocking his ear as a soft hushed whisper swelled to words with form.

“Orders are orders! We need to know what that commotion was!”

“SWAT,” Veronica whispered.

 _BANG!_ A door, she realized now. The back door they’d found behind the storefronts. The one Logan said he’d tried, but found blocked from the outside.

“We need to hide,” he hissed.

“The office—“

“We won’t make it, and we don’t want them to know we have access,” he interrupted. “Follow me, _now_.”

He was right: that office was their eyes and ears, and if SWAT realized she’d broken in, that she could hear their radio communications… They might not leave them here for the three weeks. They might just come and clean up the witnesses _now_.

Logan ushered them down a small corridor with signs indicating washrooms as they heard the tell-tale squeal of a door in need of oil swinging open to the mall proper. Pushing open the women’s bathroom door, Veronica ushered them inside.

“Stalls,” she hissed.

Logan caught on quickly. Dick cracked a grin, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door, but he remained silent as Logan ordered him. Corny… well, his eyes were glazed over, and he was on autopilot, best Veronica could tell. A living robot. She could work with that.

“We need to hear what they’re saying,” she whispered, tossing the cookie box on the bathroom counter.

“We need to hide,” Logan argued, checking the last stall. “All clear.”

“Keep the lettuceheads in check. I’m peeking out.”

Her phone was in her hand as she reached for the door—and found herself swiftly yanked back by Logan. Wrenching her arm away, she shoved him back.

“Are you serious?”

“Are you?” he snapped. “They have _guns_ , Veronica. They see you, they’ll shoot you.”

“We need to know what they’re doing!”

“Not that badly.” His voice softened as he tentatively reached for her again. “We can listen to their comms later, remember?”

Goddamn it, he had a point. He had a point and she fucking hated him for it. Hated him and the way his hand gently encircled her wrist.

“And what if they’re hunting us right now? Show up at this door, open it and shoot us?” She fidgeted with her phone, her heart sinking at that persistent _No Service_ message. “I’m not built to sit around and wait to get hurt. I go down swinging.”

“Me too,” he uttered. “But you have to pick your battles. Fight smart.”

His eyes were dark pools, narrow and deep. The chill in his words stole her breath. 

_Logan Echolls knows pain. Knows it like I do._

“Smart… okay….” She studied the room: fourteen stalls, six sinks, four air dryers. Two stoned men, slumped against the wall eating cookies and hugging mannequin legs. One man, with an unnerving focus upon her… _and hello, what do we have here_?

“I’ve got an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband would like you to give him creative credit for the Dead Rising jokes that will continue to ensure in this story, as he reminded me of the video game being set in a mall. He and I have basically spent the last few weeks laughing over Dick and Corny's entire B-plot for this story. I apologize profusely for the shenanigans that they are destined to cause.
> 
> Okay maybe I don't. But I promise they will not stop LoVe from pining and romance. 
> 
> What's your fave cookie? Let me know.


	5. Day Two Into Night Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants a POV shift? Well, I don't care. You're getting one anyway. *wink* 
> 
> In this chapter, a character butchers a classic Beatles lyric (from "All You Need Is Love"). File it under good tries.

**DAY TWO INTO NIGHT TWO...**

“You want to do what?!”

“Well, do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. You stay _right fucking here_!” he hissed. “There’s no way I’m boosting you into that air duct.”

“C’mon, where’s your sense of action movie? It’ll be just like Die Hard. I’ll have a few laughs, it’s spring break. And if you won’t, I’ll bribe Cheech and Chong with more cookies.”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to scream at her. “You remember that ol’ Bruno took machine gun shots in that air duct, right?”

_I’m not letting anything happen to you. I can’t._

“Uh yeah, because he was a muscle-heavy dude making noise. I’m aerodynamic and stealthy.” Veronica hoisted herself onto the bathroom counter with a firm glare. “I’ll do this the hard way if I have to.”

“And you’re opening the vent how?”

Her hand slipped inside the back pocket of her jeans as she smirked. “Multi-tool. Never leave home without it.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Logan paced beside the sink, torn between his need for information on the idiots holding them hostage, and the tangled box of Christmas lights called _his feelings for Veronica Mars_. He’d been twisting and teasing them apart for years and they were still a Gordian knot of glass bulbs.

“Where’s Ronnie going?” Dick mumbled from the bathroom floor. “Hey, can you grab me a burger while you’re gone?”

“I’ll try, Dick.” 

“Me too, ‘Ronica! With bacon!” Corny pleaded.

Loosening the bottom screws of the vent, Veronica glanced down at Logan. “And for you?”

“I can’t talk you out of this?”

“Nope.”

 _Damn it._ “Just be safe.”

Tucking her multi-tool in her pocket, Veronica nodded. “I will be if you boost me.”

Against his better judgement, Logan interlaced the fingers of his hands, creating a cupped step. Veronica’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly as she hoisted herself upwards. Her right foot hooked into his palms, her body wavering slightly, but stabilizing quickly.

“You good?”

She smiled nervously. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With a slow, steady motion he propelled her the extra foot upwards she needed to crawl inside the duct. Corny saluted her progress with a cookie as she shimmied inside. Logan’s heart raced as her boot pulled away from his hands and disappeared into the vent.

“Veronica?” he whispered.

“I’m fine. Stay quiet, I’ll be back.”

 _Sure. Okay, I’ll just stand here and not think about the possibility of you being discovered by an unknown number of idiots armed to the teeth._ Logan flipped open the box of cookies she’d made for the two of them, popping one in his mouth. It wasn’t comforting, but it was something to keep his mouth busy.

Screaming with a mouth full of chocolatey goo wasn’t impossible, but it would have disgusting consequences.

“I hope she finds burgers,” Dick mumbled. “I’m hungry, dude.”

Logan crouched down, feeling his cheeks burn. “You two need to snap out of it. Those guys out there? They shoot first and ask questions later. If they see her, they will _kill her_. This isn’t a game!”

Corny bowed his head, dutifully rebuked. Dick’s mouth opened, as if to protest, but quickly closed again.

Retrieving his bat, Logan positioned himself at the door to the bathroom, listening intently for signs of approach or trouble in the mall beyond. It was a sense he’d honed early in life. The tell-tale signs of a father’s rage brewing told him when to hide. The soft whimpers of his mother beckoned him forward at age eight, redirecting that rage to his skin instead. 

In high school, he collected stories about people. Evidence, he called it. Proof of their true selves. It was how he knew Carrie Bishop couldn’t be trusted with a secret _unless_ she cared about you; if you were in her inner circle, she would take it to the grave. It was how he knew that Shelly Pomroy would backstab anyone for five minutes of attention, or that Angie Dahl chased scholarships other students needed because she feared the competition in university. 

Listening was how he’d learned that Veronica Mars was a lot like him.

She was the kind of person who threw herself into the fray, defending those who lacked the strength to defend themselves. She was intelligent and well-read, but didn’t flaunt it. She kept her inner circle small, but once admitted, you were in for life. Loyalty mattered deeply to her. She would throw a punch to defend her father, but her mother’s betrayal had blacklisted her from Veronica’s life forever.

He’d wanted to talk to her for years—since her mother’s affair with his father. Towns talk, and Logan had listened. Lianne had slipped into a few other prominent beds, and there was no love lost with the elites of Neptune. Punishing Keith for her mistakes was bullshit, and he’d wanted to tell Veronica so. Had tried to once, from a burner phone. A simple text message: _It’s this town’s loss._

The children of the wealthy had turned on her. The social cache of _sheriff’s daughter_ had protected her from their usual reindeer games, but without it, she was another easy target. He’d listened to her cry behind the safety of an Out Of Order sign on a women’s washroom one afternoon and felt his heart crack open.

 _Enough_.

He’d started talking the next day. He couldn’t control everyone, but those who respected him backed off. It was his father, after all, and if he thought it wasn’t something to torment her over, they’d lost their feigned moral high ground. He listened as her voice hardened, watched her chin tilt up. Veronica donned armour now, picking and choosing her speech carefully.

Logan understood that, all too well. But he missed listening to her words.

Tapping his bat lightly against his leg, he thought of their morning pizza party. She’d relaxed around him, almost as if she no longer saw a zip code, but a _person_. They were in danger every single second they remained trapped in Neptune Heights, but if it gave him a chance to show her that he was more than the rich son of actors… Well, after his shitty childhood, he’d learned to take a razor-thin silver lining where he found one.

A sudden clattering and bang in the corridor beyond startled Logan. His body tensed as he heard distant voices in an indecipherable heated discussion. Behind him, the air duct remained silent.

“What’s going on?” Dick asked.

Logan pressed his finger to his lips and gestured to the bathroom door. Veronica was quiet—too quiet for his liking. _Did they hear her?_ _Maybe I should go out there. Live bait. Pull their attention away from her_. He gently nudged the door open with his foot, straining to hear.

The voices weren’t close—good for the three of them; bad for figuring shit out—but another clang worried him. Metal on metal. _Are they banging on the fire shutters? Those clowns aren’t going to let out our chomp-happy chums, are they?_

A whistle, piercing and shrill, and then the screech of a door in desperate need of WD-40. He knew that door: it was across the main corridor, beside the food court. He’d run through it when the panic began yesterday. 

“I think they’re leaving,” he whispered to Dick and Corny, letting the bathroom door fall shut.

_Veronica, where are you?_

An agonizing minute passed, then, he heard it: a soft, muffled scraping sound. Very faint, it reminded him of a small animal burrowing behind a wall. A skittering, a pattering of feet. Logan pressed up onto his toes expectantly, holding his breath.

A delicate hand stretched out through the vent, gripping the edge. He reached for it eagerly, his thumb rolling over the skin. _Warm, safe._

Veronica’s head popped out of the duct. Her crooked smile set him at ease.

“Good news: I know what those assholes are up to. Bad news: there are no burgers in the air ducts. Sorry, boys.” Her other arm stretched out, fingers flexing. “I didn’t quite think this turning around thing through. Help?”

“I’ve got you. Brace your arms on my shoulders,” he instructed her.

They worked together, Veronica holding onto him, Logan gently pulling until his hands could latch onto her ribs. With a steady grip, he pulled her free of the duct, her boots lightly thumping against the countertop as she emerged dusty, but unharmed. 

“Told you. Tiny and quiet.” 

Reluctantly, he let her go, taking a step backwards. “So you could hear them?”

“Mmhmm. Got to a vent near the food court. Couldn’t hear all of them. Government hired a few good mumblers. But I caught the gist from the booming voices.” Dusting off her clothes, she reached for her bat. “Let’s walk and talk.”

“Good idea. Come on, Giggle Twins. There’s pizza in the security office.”

Logan was hoping to eat it for a late lunch, but if it kept Dick and Corny quiet, he’d make the sacrifice. Veronica pouted and he stifled a laugh. Clearly, she’d had similar plans for their stash.

Logan took the lead, checking their surroundings carefully before looping back into the main corridor. Veronica flanked him on his right, speaking in a hushed tone.

“So, clearly they’ve figured out that people have survived the initial release of the virus and are not eager to gnaw the limbs off everyone in a hundred mile radius.” She swung her bat at her side, cookies in her other hand. “They called us clever.”

“I’ll be sure to put that in my yearbook quote. _Government goons think I’m clever._ ”

“I’m going with _Smarter than the average SWAT_.”

Logan grinned. “I like it. Work it into your valedictorian speech.”

“Gotta get through Angie Dahl first, and unless she’s behind the fire shutters…”

“We can dream. What else did the Bullet Brigade have to say?”

Veronica frowned. “Someone asked if they should come find us and rescue us, since we have more intelligence than a virus zombie. Apparently, Dr. Preston told them the virus can onset in a delay, so he won’t clear them to release us, and he wants to study the handy specimens we gathered up.”

“Which means they’ll be back in the mall.” Logan cursed beneath his breath. “Do you buy the delayed onset line?”

Veronica hesitated. “I’m 99% sure it’s bullshit to protect his precious government weapon from exposure. It’s possible he’s reviewed the list of people quarantined and reasoned I may be in the mall, and have evaded infection. If he’s figured that out, he knows I’m the likeliest person to blow this wide open. All the same, I think we should be watching for symptoms.”

They turned down the security corridor, the mood dark. Logan stole a glance at the worried woman beside him and pushed aside his fear. _She’s going to be fine. We’re not infected. But we need to get out of here._

“Alright, if they’re going to be coming in and out of here, we need to know that the rest of the mall is safe to hide in,” he mused. “We need to sweep it now.”

“Agreed. I think we should hide radios everywhere. Maybe cameras that record to internal drives, run off batteries for the places base security doesn’t cover. Let’s raid Best Buy,” Veronica suggested.

With a jiggle of her skeleton key, they were inside their sanctum. Corny immediately found his way to the fridge, yanking out the pizza box with an enthusiastic cheer. Dick paused in the centre of the office, laughing quietly to himself.

“Hey Logan, is this where we got cheese and sausage when I popped my arm skateboarding on the escalators?”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “I thought you were joking last night!”

“I never joke about shopping mall charcuterie,” he quipped, plucking the cookies from her hand.

She protested loudly, chasing him to the console desk, where they split the last of the sugary treats while reviewing several angles of the upper and lower level. All looked, thankfully, peaceful. Easily handled by one person.

“You good to work these controls?”

Veronica shrugged. “My dad and I install single cameras for jobs… _why_?”

“Because you’re going to be my eyes and ears while I clear the mall.” 

Logan expected anger. He expected protest. He did not expect her to shove his chair back a full foot in her fury to find her feet.

“What kind of sexist bullshit is this? I’m going with you.”

“Veronica—“

“Do you have any idea what I see at work? What I am capable of?”

“I know you went charging into the River Stix and lived to tell the tale, so yeah, I do.” 

In the corner of the office, Corny glanced up from the pizza box. “Mom, Dad, please don’t fight.”

Veronica’s foot tapped angrily on the tiles as she stared him down. “So, why am I not going?”

“Because one of us needs to stay here and listen to the radios,” Logan reasoned. “If the SWAT assholes or that doctor start talking about coming in here, they can jump on the PA and call out a warning. Do you trust _those two_ to handle that?”

Veronica glanced behind her, grimacing as Corny tossed a piece of pepperoni into Dick’s open mouth. Dick coughed and sputtered, choking on the airborne meat.

“Alright. So you stay here, and I’ll clear the mall.”

“No, because you already took one for the team by crawling through the duct.”

A half-truth. She’d done her fair share. The truth was, Logan wanted her safely behind the armed door of this office. He’d already lost his mother; he couldn’t bear to lose her, too. He could tell she was sizing him up, seeing straight through his bullshit excuse. 

“So, you’re going to leave me to babysit these two and run off alone to search the mall?”

Dick tossed a crumpled napkin at Logan’s head. “Dude, you’ve played Resident Evil with me how many times? Stupid move.”

“Can we not invite cockroaches to live with us?” Veronica pleaded in an overly saccharine tone. “Pick up your trash, please.”

“I’ll take one of them with me,” Logan relented. “They’ll stop feeding off each other.”

Veronica threw her hands up and sighed. “Fine! But you’re taking Dick.”

_Damn it._

Dick hooted loudly, reaching for his mannequin leg. “Sweet! Zombie killing time!”

“The _infected people_ should all be locked up, but if they’re not, we will lock up the rest,” Logan cautioned Dick. “Corny, help Veronica watch the cameras for the cops, alright?”

Corny grinned, reaching for the pizza box. “Logan, I have got this _covered_! I’ve been lookout plenty of times. The fuzz won’t catch us.”

As Dick took practice swings with his mannequin leg, Veronica leaned in close. “Please, please reconsider.”

“You know more about the virus than I do. If Preston gets on the radio, you may hear something important that I wouldn’t catch.” Brushing dust off her jacket, he smirked. “Need anything while I’m out? A scented candle? More snacks? A cheeseburger?”

“Chips would be nice. I tried the air duct, but it was out of stock.”

Logan clucked his tongue. “They’ll never stay afloat in this economy with poor service like that. I’ll see what I can do.”

Fisting his hand in Dick’s t-shirt sleeve, he reluctantly tugged him towards the office door. Somehow, he sensed what should be an hour-long task was about to become an arduous affair.

“Stay quiet, speak softly, and let me lead,” Logan ordered him. “You got it?”

“I’m not getting bit. You first, dude.”

_You know what? I’m going to roll with that._

Shrugging off Dick’s blatant offering of himself as the sacrificial lamb, Logan led them out into the mall, his bat swinging lightly at his side. Having spent many an afternoon avoiding his house at Neptune Heights as a twelve year-old boy, he had the hexagonal structure memorized. While the four main branches ran in a cross corresponding to compass directions, their paths meandered and arced into curved detouring branches, softening the structure’s look—and creating hiding places for angry, bloodthirsty denizens of Neptune. 

“Hey Logan, what’s the plan?”

“Clearing the upper level first,” he decided. “We’ve been up here. SWAT’s been here. Something should have jumped out by now. Start with safer ground, move down.”

“Smart!” Dick hefted the long, lean leg of the mannequin over his shoulder. “So thatta way first?”

He pointed towards Mrs. Fields and Logan nodded his approval. “Exactly. Also, it’s closest to where the cops are, so let’s clear it now. They probably won’t be back for a while.”

“Plus we can grab brownies from the fridge, so score. Multi-tasking,” Dick chortled, marching along beside him. “Speaking of, I noticed you’re taking advantage of this disaster movie to finally thaw your balls.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ronnie Mars? Girl who’s had your nuts in a vice for a year? I watch CW. I’m sensitive.”

Logan paused at the first store, looping inside to inspect the space front to back. “Dick, it’s not like that. Like you said, you don’t survive alone in the apocalypse, right? We teamed up.”

“Logan, this is _me_. The guy who watches you stare at her at lunch. Which is cool because she’s a babe if you like combat boots and that _fuck off_ frown she’s always got. Me, I like my ladies laid back, but different _strokes_.” The blonde punctuated his sentence with an exaggerated hip thrust and a gesture that clearly evoked a mental image of slapping an ass— _great, remind me of that old fantasy_.

Clearing the store, Logan yanked the security gate down with a huff. “Is there a point to your rambling?”

Dick shook his head with a pitying look, as if Logan were incapable of matching wits with him. “Corny says that life is like, the thing that happens when you’re making plans. Or wait, there’s that song, that old timey one… _‘There's nowhere you can be that’s not where you're s’posed to be.’_ Something like that. The universe has literally locked you in a room with Ronnie and said, tell her you wanna get _down_. So do it already.”

He had a point. He had a valid fucking point, one he’d even considered, and it was pissing him off.

“Let’s just focus, alright? Come on.”

They swiftly moved through the stores on the eastern side of the upper level, aside from a detour into Mrs. Fields for the last dozen double chocolate brownies. Moving to the western corridor, Logan slowed down, exercising greater caution as they moved through clothing stores, a nearly-destroyed perfumery that made his eyes water, and the Sony Store. 

Dick was waylaid again, the last of his high baiting him towards the 3D TVs and images of snow leopards prowling for prey. Stealing his mannequin leg proved effective motivation, and they continued onwards, relieved to find each store vacant of survivors, infected or otherwise.

Logan spent the relative silence ruminating on Dick’s observation. So what if he’d been sitting on his feelings for Veronica for three years? Half of that time, he hadn’t really known they were more than a fascination, and the other half, he’d known they were star-crossed.

_What if the universe thinks you’re wrong?_

He ran his hand through his hair, sighing deeply as Dick pranced inside the last store of the upper level circuit, an Osh Kosh B’Gosh. _Now I’m buying into signs and messages from the cosmos? Maybe I’m second-hand high from Corny blazing beside me._

Giving himself a shake, he joined Dick in checking through a maze of clothing racks, play equipment and tiny mannequins, dissuading Dick from yanking off their arms to make nunchuks. Clearing the back office and bathroom, they yanked the gate down and surveyed the corridor.

“Top floor is clear. You ready for downstairs or do you need a break?”

Dick laughed. “This is _fun_! We’re hunting monsters, kicking over ugly stuff, and I have a bag of brownies. What more could a guy want, besides a hot masseuse and a happy ending?”

Logan paused at the top of the stairs. “Aren’t there massage chairs downstairs?”

“Uh, why are we still up here then?”

They skipped Nordstrom— _save the worst for last_ , Logan reasoned—and made swift work of the southwestern half of the lower level. Many of the shops downstairs were small boutiques that ran straight back with nowhere to hide, making sweeps efficient. By the time they’d reached the centre food court and its cacophony of groans and slapped palms behind the fire shutters, they’d cleared seventeen stores in a speedy twenty-five minutes.

“Oh sweet, Best Buy!” Dick enthused. “I need a phone charger.”

 _Cameras_. _And maybe radios_ , Logan mentally added as they entered the electronics chain. _The ability to grab a walkie and dial into SWAT’s channel on a dime might be useful._ They moved through the store on a circuit, Dick surprisingly competent. His video game mentality about the whole mess was engaging a survival sense Logan could have never predicted.

Once cleared, Logan searched the counters for employee radios, finding nothing in the first two behind the cash. On the third try, however, he struck a strange jackpot: four bottles of water, a handful of protein bars, several chocolate bars and four mini-bags of Sweet Chili Heat Doritos

 _This must be that cache Veronica wanted to get back to yesterday._ Grabbing the chips, he stuffed them inside Dick’s bag.

“Watch the brownies!”

“Veronica wants chips.”

Dick followed him out of the store, clunking the mannequin leg against the floor. “And like a boyfriend, you found her some. Just ask her out.”

With a growl of frustration, Logan thumped his bat off a mall directory. “You know what, Dick? You think this is so easy? You think that whole ‘Hey, your mom screwed my asshole dad and the entire town made it into a thing that got your dad fired’ deal is _bygones_ , then fine. How do I ask her out?”

Dick hooted loudly. “Step into my office, Mr. Echolls. The Dickster is at your service.”

“Never call yourself that again.”

“You want my help or not, dude?”

Logan didn’t really want his help. He wanted competent help, but his options were Corny, whose mouth was perpetually glued to a source of ganja, or his long-time friend—admittedly not the brightest crayon in the box, but he was loyal, and he wouldn’t sabotage what foundation he’d managed to build in the last twenty-four hours.

_Desperate times…._

“Fine. Suggest away.”

They moved through Yves Rocher as Dick sniffed and discarded various products with disdain. “So, you two are kinda buds now, right?”

Logan shrugged, cautiously opening a staff office. “She’s not trying to kick my ass or run away anymore, so I guess?”

“Cool. Now, are you looking to cream the Twinkie, or actually do the coupling thing?”

Logan glared at him. “If I’d wanted to just sleep with her, I would have approached her a year ago. That’s not me.”

“It’s the _apocalypse_. A guy has needs! Speaking of, first dibs on any other lady survivors.” Satisfied the store was clear, they yanked the shutter closed. “So, you gotta go all eighties movie on her then.”

Logan snorted. “Wear neon clothes and suspenders? Shoulder pads and spiky hair? Your advice is terrible.”

“NO! You gotta _woo her_. You know, in that cutesy way chicks love. Sentimental, cheesy dates. But don’t call it a date. Call it… hanging out.” Dick waved his mannequin leg at a nearby candy store. “And do nice shit, like that. Bring her candy. Don’t make it a big deal. Just bring her the candy she likes best. ‘ _Oh hey Ronnie, I see you’re hungry. Want some jelly beans? Oh wow, I had no idea you loved jelly beans, what an amazing coink!’_ ”

Logan was stunned. “This is… not terrible.”

“Of course it’s good advice. I get laid for a reason, and that reason is ROM-COMS, baby. I watch videos on YouTube and take notes. Top Ten Shmoopy Moments in Chick Flicks. Bam!”

Logan jostled Dick playfully as they continued on their rounds, relieved to find the lower level as empty as the upstairs corridors. While Logan didn’t like the deception in Dick’s approach—feigning a lack of awareness of Veronica’s preferences, for example—the idea of _dates that weren’t called dates_ was very appealing. It would give her a chance to see him as a person, relaxing away from school.

_Now, how to create a date inside a mall-shaped prison?_

He knew this mall better than anyone. He knew his assets. What stores did he have? Obviously, they could eat together. He was a decent cook from years of hanging around their servant, Mrs. Navarro. She was always kind to him, and the kitchen was the last place his parents would dare risk dirtying their clothing. What else?

_Of course!_

An idea formed in Logan’s mind as they entered a wellness store, their last stop before Nordstrom. He smiled to himself, plotting how to recruit Corny’s assistance in fine-tuning the details as he moved towards the back, glancing behind the counter and noticing two doors around a jutting wall—one of which was ajar.

_Yeah, I don’t like the look of that._

“Dick!” he hissed.

“’Sup?”

“Be ready,” Logan cautioned, edging closer.

Move around it, or make noise and draw out any unwanted company? After a moment’s debate, Logan went with the latter. It left him with more room to flee. Stretching his aluminum bat as far as he could, he tapped the wooden door before him and instinctively recoiled.

Silence. 

Dick moved beside him, hefting his weapon. “Where’s the zombie?”

“Maybe I’m just paranoid…”

Another rap on the door, more insistent. The only sound was the pounding of Logan’s heart in his ears.

“Watch my back,” he urged Dick, rounding the door.

He needed to be certain, needed to see for himself. If life had taught him nothing else, it was to trust nothing and no one, until proven worthy of the vulnerability of faith. 

Craning his neck around the open door, Logan grimaced at the horrors within what was once a break room—at least, he assumed so. It was difficult to tell beneath the conic sprays of crimson marring the eggshell-white walls. Flecks of viscera and shards of bone were scattered on the tiny table, and bloody clothing was draped neatly over the ugly Formica chairs as if left to dry after a rainy dry.

“Whoa… this is gruesome. There’s an eyeball on the ceiling!”

Logan glanced up, shuddering as he confirmed Dick’s horrific observation. “This blood is wet. This happened today. It could have happened right before the lockdown, but it might have been after…”

“Which means zombie in the mall, got it,” Dick concluded, waving his Mrs. Fields bag. “Let’s bash his brains in and go eat these brownies.”

“Dick, be serio— _fuuuuck_.”

A low growl at the entrance of the wellness store sent a chill down Logan’s spine. Tightening his grip on the bat, he turned slowly to face the bloody, snarling form of his former English teacher, Mr. Daniels. Logan remembered him well; he’d earned a week’s detention from him for insulting his shitty car and Shakespeare in the same class. His eyes were jet-black with fury and his sweater vest-clad chest heaved with each breath. 

_Adrenaline_ , Logan wondered. _Does this virus make it spike_? It would explain what Veronica had told him about Tasing Tad multiple times, with little effect.

Setting his bag of snacks down on the counter behind them, Dick leaned in close. “This guy was a total prick last year. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

Mr. Daniels staggered forward, swiping a line of vitamins off a table with a snarl of indignation. A piece of bloody skin fell from his hand and Dick made a gagging noise.

“Gross!”

Glancing behind them, Logan cursed inwardly. If there was a doorway to the rear corridors that ran behind most of the stores in the mall, he couldn’t see it. They were backed in a corner. 

“We need to get behind him,” he whispered.

“How?”

Logan shook his head. “No fucking idea. But there’s nowhere to go back there.”

One step closer, two. Daniels shrieked, pointing at Logan and gnashing his teeth.

“No autographs please,” he quipped, circling to his right. “But thank you for your support.” 

Two tables lay between them and the infected, incensed teacher. If he decided to rage out and toss the flimsy wood—likely from Ikea—aside, they were screwed. Their backs were against a wall and it would be easy to cut them off as they fled the store.

“Run for it,” he urged Dick.

“No way!” Banging the mannequin thigh on the table, Dick whistled loudly. “Hey Daniels! Come and get it. Bet this is as close as you’ve gotten to lady legs in years with that stick up your ass!”

Daniels’ fist smashed a bottle of fish oil, sending it splattering in their direction. Logan and Dick leaped to the right, evading the goo—and edging closer to safety. 

“Yeah buddy, look at my sexy leg!” Dick taunted. “While you’ve been marking our stupid papers on why Hamlet is a whiny dumbass, I’ve been out with fine ladies like ol’ Lindsay here.” He tossed the mannequin leg over his shoulder with a grin. “Now that feels familiar.”

Logan snorted despite himself, wincing as Daniels shrieked loudly and overturned a table. “I think you struck a nerve, Dick.”

“More like I’ve been striking hot ass while he’s been striking out. _Loser_.”

Straw, meet spine of camel: Mr. Daniels, or what was left of him, surged between the tables as they made a break for the mall corridor. Logan’s bat swung out, making contact with a satisfying, sickening crack against his former teacher’s arm as he narrowly evaded his flailing hands. In the open space of the sky-lit concourse, there were few places to hide, but plenty of room to evade.

Mr. Daniels’ bloody palm streaked along a white marble pillar as he glared at them, his left arm hanging at a grotesque angle.

“That you? Nice shot!” Dick praised.

Logan shrugged. “He’s sick, but I couldn’t let him… you know.”

Overhead, a loud hum, and a crackle startled the trio. _“Logan! Are you okay?”_

He tilted his left hand in a so-so gesture at the sound of Veronica’s voice and focused on the approaching teacher. A one-armed, adrenaline-fueled rage zombie was hardly a cakewalk. It was his abusive father holding a drink in his hand after an Oscars party. 

_Ahh, my childhood. It has all led to this._

The best way to handle Aaron Echolls on a rage bender? Avoid him. Second-best strategy? Confine him until he calmed down, or confine yourself. Assessing their surroundings, Logan spied a beacon of hope—and insight into the fresh carnage they’d discovered.

“Here’s the plan,” Logan stated calmly. “You need to circle left and get ready to yank down the security gate on that store. I’m going to drive him back inside and stun him. We lock him in.”

“Don’t you need keys for that?”

Logan grinned. “Yup. And they’re in the gate. Look up.”

The security gate for the wellness store was a top-down pull door, currently a quarter shut. Dangling from the lock was a ring of keys, presumably belonging to an employee. If Logan were placing a bet, he’d guess the body in the break room was the owner of said key ring.

Clunking his leg off Logan’s bat, Dick nodded. “Let’s do it.”

The PA crackled overhead. _“I’m coming down there!”_

Logan shook his head vigorously. They had this under control. On the bright side, Veronica’s announcement had drawn Daniels’ attention to the ceiling, allowing Dick to circle behind a pillar to the teacher’s right—and Logan to edge closer to the infected man, preparing to strike.

He was probably going to die, but as Virgil said, _Fortune sides with him who dares._ And he definitely dared to poke this hornet’s nest of bloody teeth.

“Mr. Daniels,” he sneered, jabbing his bat towards the teacher. “Shakespeare still sucks. You say Macbeth is complex and character driven; I say it’s just an advertisement for a crappy marriage held together by a murder. Hamlet? If that guy had spent less time complaining about his father’s murder and just avenged him immediately, there wouldn’t have been a pile of bodies in Denmark. And don’t get me started on Romeo and Juliet.”

Daniels lunged at him and Logan swung hard, the aluminum bat connecting with his sternum. The teacher staggered backwards and growled menacingly. Another strike, one that would take down most men and the teacher wobbled, but held his ground.

“Fuck this,” Logan muttered.

Sucking in a deep breath, he charged Daniels, jamming the bat across his windpipe and shoving him back by his neck. The heat of his breath, rancid and foul with the stench of iron and decay nauseated Logan as the enraged educator chomped and pawed at him. Hooking his right ankle behind Daniels’ polyester-clad leg, he tripped him backwards, sending him ass first into a display of calcium chews.

“NOW, DICK!” Logan shouted, scrambling backwards.

The gate slammed down as Daniels crawled towards them, howling in pain. Dick was fast, but Daniels was quicker: bloody fingers slipped beneath the gate just as it reached the floor, crushing between metal and marble. The infected man screamed inside the store, fist pounding against the gate.

“I’m sorry,” Logan muttered, stomping the wayward hand until the clawing digits retracted.

It took the two of them holding the gate down while Logan jiggled the key in the lock, but Daniels was swiftly secured inside, furious and frantically checking the door with his shoulder in an effort to escape. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Logan stumbled backwards and leaned against a pillar.

“Think the door will stay locked?”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. But maybe we cover the windows. I feel like they’re calmer when they can’t see us.”

Dick nodded. “Like parakeets.”

Logan’s mouth fell open to question him, but he was silenced by the crackle of the PA. _“Are you okay? Thumbs up or down?”_

Logan nodded and flashed a thumbs up.

_“Did either of you get scratched or bitten, or hurt?”_

Logan flipped his thumb down and stared expectantly at Dick. Dick shrugged and matched his motion.

_“Head back here, alright? We’ll clear Nordstrom together.”_

Logan selectively chose to ignore her, focusing instead on Dick’s agitated pacing. “Hey Dick, what is it?”

“My brownies are in there with that asshole Daniels!”

Through the Plexiglas, neatly on the cashier’s counter, sat a red Mrs. Fields bag, mocking them both.

“Veronica’s chips are in there, too. Damn.”

“That guy ruined our sophomore year and now he’s ruining my dinner buzz!” Dick lamented. “On the bright side… I think you’ve got a shot with Veronica, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick as a relationship advisor is not something I recommend, but as Logan points out, his options are slim.  
> Next time in our castle: new sleeping arrangements are made, and our family unit bonds...
> 
> NOTE: now that Trope-A-Palooza is done and I am not desperation posting, I will be slowing updates to manage my two WIPs along with other projects on the go. My goal is to update this at least biweekly, on alternating weeks with Mirrored Perspective. See you soon!


	6. Night Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting.
> 
> Updates will continue to be erratic. Without details, my personal life right now is in a place where it's impressive I get out of bed and work. Finding time and energy to write is truly difficult. I've outlined the entire story and I will finish it, but I need to take care of myself and family right now. Bear with me.
> 
> Previously in our Cardboard Castle: Preston plans to experiment on the infected trapped in the centre food court thanks to Logan and Veronica's quick thinking; Logan and Dick battled Mr. Daniels and won - but lost munchie rations along the way. And now, the end of the second day of our trapped in the mall homage to zombie classics, with an extra dose of fluff...

“Whose bright idea was this?”

“Yours?” Veronica teased.

“They’re going to smash that TV,” Logan mumbled as he ascended the step ladder, camera in hand.

Veronica snickered as she leaned over the railing and peered down at the lower level of Neptune Heights, where Dick and Corny were currently maneuvering a flat-screen TV in a Best Buy shopping cart—poorly. She suspected their _snack break_ had something to do with that. Common sense would dictate that she and Logan were better equipped to handle delicate electronics, but it was either move the TV to Nordstrom or mount the covert cameras to spy on Preston and his SWAT goons. 

“Think this planter is enough cover?”

Veronica glanced back at Logan, eyeing his handiwork. “For sure. The camera housing is similar in colour to the lighting fixtures and the foliage is pretty heavy. We have the other angle hidden on the Apple Store sign as a failsafe.”

“Cool.” Logan secured the industrial adhesive and jumped down with a soft _thud_. “That’s the last of them here. One more by Nordstrom and we’re good.”

From beneath them, they heard Corny yell out frantically: “Stop steering me into floor beams!”

“I think he means pillars,” Veronica groaned. “We better help them before our movie night’s up in smoke.”

Logan offered his hand for a high-five and she slapped it playfully before retrieving her bag and baseball bat. It had been a long afternoon of searching Nordstrom, spying on their captors via radio surveillance and plotting the best places to plant covert cameras. After heavy debate with Logan—Dick and Corny were vetoed—they’d decided that Nordstrom would be base camp at night, provided a radio was on and set to SWAT’s channel at all times. Dick and Corny, in turn, had insisted that Nordstrom be upgraded.

“It’s more safe and stuff,” Dick had argued. “We need everything cool in one place.”

“Define _cool_ ,” Logan had probed warily.

“TV! Playstation!” Dick had enthused.

“Snacks! Art supplies!” Corny had chimed in.

Veronica had leaned closer, hissing in Logan’s ear. “You did this. This is Ms. Hauser’s revenge on you, and me by entrapment.”

After spacing the display beds apart and corralling a sofa and chairs from break rooms to form a makeshift living space, Dick and Corny were now retrieving their final touch: a TV and a Playstation, with a selection of games and Blu-Rays. 

Jogging downstairs, they cut off their uncoordinated companions as they nearly smashed their shopping cart into yet another marble pillar. Logan took control of the cart, waving Corny away.

“Hey, didn’t you say you were making dinner tonight?”

Veronica shook her head furiously. “Do we really want to set off more smoke alarms?”

“Nah, that was Dick. He got the timer wrong,” Corny insisted. “I can make an excellent dinner. Trust me!”

Veronica hesitated, torn between the camera that needed an install and babysitting Chef Corny. Looking to Logan for input, he shrugged casually.

“We know where the fire extinguishers are.”

“But our food is in short supply,” she countered, thinking of half of her chips trapped with a furious zombie.

Corny frowned, stepping between them. “Okay, I’m not super smart like you two, but I can make pizza. I work at Cho’s.”

Veronica almost relaxed, then hesitated. “While stoned?”

Corny buckled over laughing. “You do _not_ need to be sober to make a good pie. I haven’t pulled a shift without Mary Jane in two years.”

Throwing up her hands in surrender, she stepped aside, watching Corny head upstairs to their limited food court and sole source of sustenance for the indefinite future. Logan directed Dick to walk forward, steering the TV expertly towards the entrance of Nordstrom.

“I should check on him in fifteen minutes,” Logan suggested.

“I was thinking ten,” Veronica replied. “I’ve got this camera here. You sure this is a good idea?”

“Versus the security office?” As she nodded, Logan sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t like splitting up, but in there, we’re pinned. We know they’ll want to go in there to release the infected and grab test subjects, so… why be where they are? This store is huge, and it has a back exit into the rear corridor. I don’t like giving up control or not having cameras, but it’s about survival, Veronica.”

“We could rotate shifts in the office.”

She’d made this suggestion before, and it was their daytime plan. But for night time… it had been a debate.

He stared intently at her, his warm brown eyes boring a hole into her psyche. “You know why that’s not going to work.”

 _He doesn’t trust Dick and Corny to stay awake and protect us. He prefers to have my back in a fight with SWAT because Corny is untested and Dick pisses me off._ _Not that Logan didn’t piss me off before but… now, he doesn’t._ Stealing a glance at Logan as he teased Dick for his lousy directional skills, she smiled to herself. _Logan is alright to be around._

Reaching the store entrance, Veronica readied the camera gear for an install while Dick rambled about which game they would be playing first. Logan gave her a quick salute as they passed—two fingers to his forehead, swooped down with a smirk.

“Wish me luck.”

“You need more than luck. You need a tranq gun,” she teased.

Her height was a liability for this mission, but Nordstrom provided a bevy of boosting options. A quick recon of the counters near the entry yielded a sturdy chair for makeovers that Veronica felt would support her weight. _The perks of being tiny_ , she enthused, positioning it on the far side of the store so as to capture as much of the entrance as possible. 

The camera would be their witness, should Preston and the SWAT team hunt them down. Veronica hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but she refused to take any chances.

Using the robbery marker on the side of the sliding closure, she angled her camera to capture a standard height range. Satisfied, she applied the industrial adhesive to the frame and locked it in position beside a light fixture for camouflage. 

_And now, check on Chef Corny, because a girl cannot survive on Doritos._

Slinging her bag over her shoulder and retrieving her bat, she jogged upstairs with a longing look at the vitamin store where her former English teacher—and several of her Best Buy rations—were trapped. It was the right call, and she didn’t blame Logan or Dick for abandoning the munchies. It was still frustrating—like Mr. Daniels.

The smell of melting cheese wafted through the mall corridors as Veronica made her way past the sealed-off centre court. Relieved that things smelled _delicious_ and no visible flames lay ahead, she rounded the corner to Pizza Piccolo, where a sign declared they were Neptune Heights’ best pizza. Veronica snorted, shaking her head. They were the _only_ pizzeria in the mall.

Corny was milling around behind the counter, cheeks dusted in flour. His white apron was spattered in either marinara or blood; Veronica chose optimism and assumed it was the former.

“Hey, Corny! What’s cooking?”

“Ronnie! I made the sweetest grub for dinner!” Corny held up a finger as he reached for a giant wooden paddle. “Got us three pizzas. One sec, gotta grab these babies from the fire.”

Veronica leaned on the counter and watched as Corny extracted three cheesy circles from the oven. If the golden crusts were a sign, he was true to his word: the man could bake while _baked_.

“So the one on the left’s your classic pepperoni. The middle is a Cho’s deluxe—meat, veggies, lotsa cheese. The right is just veggies, in case anyone is vegetarian or on a diet or whatever.”

“This is perfect, Corny. Thank you for cooking dinner tonight!” Veronica circled around the counter and reached for the waiting boxes stacked to the side. “Let me help you load these up.”

Corny waved a pizza cutter in the air. “Slicing comes first! We should cut them large because I’m super hungry, and I bet _you’re_ super hungry too.”

Her stomach rumbled on cue and she giggled. “Maybe…”

What should have been ten slice pizzas were cut into eight slices each with a practiced hand. Veronica sensed that Corny had a habit of _cutting them large_ for his take home orders from Cho’s. It was a clever trick, one she’d file away for life outside of their mall prison.

They worked together to box the pizzas and headed downstairs, chatting about their favourite pizza toppings. Corny loved bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms together, while Veronica loved a classic pepperoni and cheese.

“It’s timeless!” she insisted. 

“But there’s a whole world of pizza out there to surprise your mouth,” Corny protested. “Veggies are awesome. Every try a grilled zucchini on a pizza? A little chicken, a white cream sauce… that shit is _fancy_. Or butter chicken pizza, which is like, not a pizza anymore, but still totally tasty.”

“Butter chicken? On a _pizza_?” Veronica’s face wrinkled. “No thanks. I’ll keep my Indian food on a heaping plate and my pizza in a cardboard box.”

“Your loss, Ronnie. It’s like… eating only vanilla ice cream and never trying Rocky Road or any other flavour.” 

_Vanilla_. That word was a sore point with her. It was how she described herself before her mother had wrecked her home and her life. _Vanilla Veronica._ Boring, bland, played nice with others. 

As they made their way inside Nordstrom, she mulled Corny’s advice. She drew the line at butter chicken pizza, and she saw nothing wrong with loving a classic, but maybe she could try colouring outside of the proverbial lines a bit.

_I mean, you never saw yourself being friends with Logan Echolls, did you?_

She felt him before she saw him, her cheeks flushing as she realized Logan was watching her from the cover of a rack of sunglasses. With a crooked grin, he plucked a pair of Ray-Bans far too large for his face from the display and plunked them on his nose. She snorted loudly, setting down her pizza on a jewelry counter.

_Scribble, scribble—oops, that damned crayon is slipping…_

“Is that food? Sweet!” Dick crowded beside her, flipping open the box and grumbling. “Where’s the real pizza? This one’s for rabbits.”

“Bro, you gotta appreciate a quality veggie ‘za!” Corny chided him, to Veronica’s amusement. “But there’s meat on these ones. Now all we need are drinks.”

“There’s a vending machine in the break room,” Logan piped up. “Why don’t you stoners go grab refreshments while Veronica and I set the table?”

Veronica tilted her head askance. Logan winked, shaking his head ever so slightly as Dick and Corny staggered away, debating the merits of Coke and Pepsi.

“Set the table?” she asked quietly.

“Lay out napkins,” he clarified, producing a package of rainbow-adorned serviettes. “These seemed whimsical.”

Veronica clapped her hands excitedly. “Just a splash of colour and our department store house is a home!” 

Laying out napkins, Logan jerked his head to his right, where their beds lay. “Speaking of home, Dick has called his bed from last night, and I assume Corny will do the same.”

Veronica shrugged. “Can’t say I disagree. Not exactly eager to sleep in a bed Dick Casablancas already used. So which ones are ours?”

“I’ll give you the tour of our suite, Miss Mars. Follow me.”

She quickened her pace to keep up with Logan’s longer strides as he wove around a convenient display of down duvets to the showcase space for the Sleep Number beds. A grinning couple on a cardboard stand promised the _best night’s sleep_ of Veronica’s life as they clutched pillows marked with very different numbers to their chests.

“Dick says he slept in this one last night,” Logan told her, pointing to the rumpled bed closest to the makeshift TV area. “Judging from the muddy footprints and orange smoothie stain on the one beside it, I’m going to take a wild guess that this one was Corny’s.”

“Meaning these two would be ours,” she concluded.

A bed across from Dick, but deeper inside the store, or a bed across from Corny, and closer to the mall exit? It wasn’t a difficult choice, in her mind—nor was it difficult for Logan. He flopped down on the bed closest to the mall exit with a pointed look.

“I want that one,” she protested.

“So do I. Should’ve moved faster.”

A taunt, lighthearted and playful. Veronica relented, still content to be closer to the exits than Dick and Corny. Sitting down on the edge of her bed with a soft bounce, she giggled to herself. It reminded her of when she was little—those moments of exuberance where even the mundane routines of life seemed filled with fun. Impulsively, she bounced again, grinning as the mattress gently bobbed with her weight. 

Logan was watching her, bemused. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he matched her bounce, shaking his head slightly.

_Colour outside of the lines, Veronica._

As she tugged her boots off, Logan leaned back on his elbows and eyed her suspiciously. “Getting comfortable?”

“You could say that,” she replied playfully. “The display says the beds are here for testing, right?”

“Um, yeah… which we’ll do later. Sleeping.” 

Pulling her knees up and crawling to the centre of the bed, Veronica froze beneath Logan’s intense stare. Chestnut irises were shadowed almost charcoal-black as they followed her every movement with curiosity and something else...

_What is THAT?_

Feeling her cheeks flush, Veronica’s gaze skirted the duvet as she pressed up to her feet, wobbling as she spread her toes and found her balance. It had been years since she’d done this, but screw it. If she was going to get shot by rogue scientists, why not have a little fun first?

“Veronica, what are you doing?”

Jumping lightly, she shrugged. “Testing the bed. Care to join me?”

Logan ran a hand over his head, shaking it in disbelief. “This is insane.”

“Maybe.” A second jump—a little higher—and Veronica grinned. “It’s also pretty fun…”

“Fuck it,” Logan muttered, kicking off his shoes. “But if my bed breaks, you’re sharing.”

“Deal!”

It was a bold promise, one she only half-hoped she’d never have to keep as Logan pushed up onto his feet. The triceps flexing beneath his tee briefly beckoned thoughts of what it might be like to be held by him. She shook her head swiftly, bouncing higher. 

_Get a grip! You are not boy-crazy! This is fear and hormones, Veronica. Knock it off!_

“I’m too heavy for this,” Logan protested, jumping once more and stilling. “Not all of us are air duct-sized.”

“I am very aerodynamic,” Veronica mused. “But too clumsy for a cheerleader. Although I _can_ cradle out.”

With a final bounce, Veronica allowed herself to fall on her ass, laughing at the confused expression on Corny’s face. Clutching several cans of soda, his curls flopped over his eyes as he studied Logan and Veronica in turn.

“What are you guys doing? Those are Sleep Number beds. You don’t bounce on them. You _experience_ them.”

As Corny turned away, Veronica leaned towards Logan. “Did we just get called immature by the guy with a pineapple bong?”

“I feel like I should apologize,” Logan murmured, lacing up his shoes. “And I don’t like it.”

Her boots back on, Veronica rose to her feet. “Let’s eat pizza and pretend we’re high like those two instead.”

Logan scoffed. “Pretend? We just bounced on beds. There’s a good chance the contact high is real. Come on, I’m starving.” 

“Me too! I could eat a whole pizza… Crap, maybe I am high.”

As Logan’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, Veronica felt a shiver roll down her spine.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I won’t tell.”

* * *

He should have known better than to leave Dick and Corny in charge of movie night, although they could have chosen a worse film than _Mallrats_.

“It takes place in a mall,” Dick explained in a patronizing tone. “What else would we pick?”

Logan could think of several more appealing films, although watching Veronica laugh at the recurring quips about Volvos being an extremely uncomfortable place to get it on made him smile. The two of them shared a bag of microwave popcorn, whispering jokes about the similarities between their companions and the on-screen potheads Jay and Silent Bob to amuse themselves.

It was nice. Better than nice, particularly when Veronica leaned against his shoulder and nibbled on licorice as TS made his final plea for Brandi’s love.

“This movie’s ridiculous,” she mumbled. “Jaws? That’s his idea of romance?”

“There’s far more romantic rides at Universal Studios,” Logan agreed. “The Cat In The Hat? Now there’s a ride!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Thing One and Thing Two are the perfect ring bearer and flower child, the Cat officiates under the blacklight… what’s not to love?”

Veronica tossed a piece of popcorn at his nose. “I’ll take my chances with the shark.”

Logan sighed in feigned exasperation. “No appreciation for ambiance.” Noticing the credits were rolling, he sprung to his feet. “I’m choosing the next one. You two have no taste.”

Which was how he and Veronica found themselves alone, watching _Easy Rider_ as Dick and Corny snored softly behind them. Sprawled on opposing ends of the couch, their legs tangled together in the middle, they quietly chatted about scenes in one of Logan’s favourite films while munching on snacks. By the end, Veronica’s eyes were drooping and he found the day’s events had worn him down.

“Sleep?” he suggested.

“Hmm? Yeah.”

Another day stuck in their clothes, Veronica mumbled sleepily about raiding the store in the morning as they fumbled with the blankets on their respective beds. Her boots hit the ground with a dull _thump_ as the radio between them crackled with activity. His senses sharpened as he leaned forward, his head nearly colliding with Veronica’s as she did the same.

The laboratory staff were chatting with the SWAT idiots outside. A headcount of quarantined captives in some sort of trailer in the parking lot, ready for transport to a facility… some other chatter about rations… Preston’s name. 

_That fucker._ Logan was still seething over the shots fired yesterday.

“We’ll need a squadron ready at 0900 hours to retrieve new subjects for research from the interior. Over,” the voice announced.

“Copy that. We’ll assembled B Team at East Entry. Over and out,” a voice replied.

“Shit,” Logan cursed. “They’re really going to do it, aren’t they?”

“Experiment on the people in the food court?” Veronica spat. “Sounds like it. Preston hired my dad under false pretenses and let me come down here hunting his research partner, knowing I could be infected by this. He’s an unethical bastard who needs to pay, and I intend to collect.”

Kicking off his shoes, Logan lay down, his limbs twitching with rage. “We really need to set up that exterior camera tomorrow if we can. Watch them, see if we can get images of this parking lot prison.”

“Agreed. But first, we need to dodge Preston and his armed guards.” 

“On it.” Setting an alarm on his watch and phone, Logan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll be up in plenty of time to play a little hide and seek.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should find an alarm clock in housewares—“

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Veronica,” he insisted. “Trust me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed himself. _Fuck! Could you be any more obvious?_ Veronica’s hesitant look sent his heart careening against his ribcage. _She’s not stupid. She knows you’re into her. What the hell is wrong with you?_

“Okay,” she replied softly. “I… Goodnight, Logan.”

“Goodnight, Veronica.”

 _FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!_ As she rolled over, placing her back to him, he stared at the ceiling and cursed his blabbing mouth. Not that he didn’t mean what he'd said. He'd meant every damn word.

If Preston or his gun-toting friends came anywhere near Veronica, he would rip them apart with his bare hands without an ounce of remorse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt called for bouncing on beds. *ticks box* I do hope we enjoyed a moment of fun. 
> 
> Next time: a character we haven't yet seen in this story! More plotting to take down Preston! More LoVe mutual crushing. I will see you as soon as I can.
> 
> (For those also following Mirrored Perspective - that story will remain on hiatus likely until December. I'm going to try and focus on this one for a bit.)


	7. Day Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this story has three major acts, we've finished act one and are entering act two. We have our mall. We have our rage zombies. We have LoVe trapped in quarantine. Now, the real fun begins...
> 
> This one goes out to Chikabiddy, who read it, reassured me as always and keeps me sane. Cake for you, lovely.

**FLASHBACK: DAY TWO - AFTERNOON**

The first missed check-in was dismissed as an oversight. Teenage daughter, a Friday night… These things could be expected, if not acceptable.

The second missed check-in had him frustrated. The bail jumper he was pursuing through Reno was armed and decidedly dangerous, and distraction was the last thing he needed. _She’s had a tough time, Keith. Cut her some slack._ It was senior year and Spring Break approached. Maybe she’d made plans with Wallace, gone to the beach. 

It was when his tracking app was unable to locate her purse or phone, and he realized the Le Baron had been parked at Neptune Heights for the last eighteen hours that a sickening chill crept over his skin. Veronica hated the mall. 

Something was wrong.

His daughter was an asset to his agency, incredibly adept at her work, but she _was_ eighteen years old and had much to learn. Had she deliberately ignored his directions to leave their open cases untouched, aside from the routine background check on a prospective new nanny for a corporate lawyer? 

He fired off a text to his oldest friend, Cliff McCormack. _Swing by my place, will you? Old cop instincts kicking in – feels like Veronica’s in trouble._

 _Must be a day ending in Y_ , Cliff replied. _I’ll drive by and say hello. Have a fun case for her, anyway. Dirty cops doing dirty deeds outside the Seven Veils. She’ll love it._

A motel door opened across the parking lot and Keith slouched in the chair of his darkened room. His subject was on the move at last. Time to collect this month’s rent.

* * *

He’d tailed the bounty to a small tavern on the northern border of Reno when his phone rang. Cliff’s name on the display troubled him deeply. If nothing was wrong, an apologetic Veronica would be on the line.

“Hello?”

_“You’re going to need a steam cleaner.”_

“I’m sorry?”

_“Backup apologizes for doing his business on the front carpet. And for tearing open the kitchen cupboard for breakfast. By the way, you’re out of dog food.”_

Keith massaged the bridge of his nose as his heart began to race. “Any signs of foul play?”

 _“Place looks in order otherwise. Door was locked. Veronica’s bed was made.”_ A pause. _“Keith, have you seen the news?”_

“What news?”

 _“That’s a no,”_ Cliff concluded. _“Any reason Veronica might have been at the mall yesterday in the ‘09?”_

Screw the bounty. It was five grand for personal retrieval, but a grand for a tip. He’d call it in, collect cash. 

“Veronica’s car has been parked there since yesterday. What happened at the mall, Cliff?”

Keith felt the phone slip from his hand as Cliff’s shaky voice echoed in his ear: _“Anthrax.”_

* * *

**DAY THREE: NEPTUNE**

He’d found his answers in his emails while waiting for his flight home the night before. A credit card hit on missing research scientist Evelyn Tedesco: Neptune Heights, Orange Julius. Veronica had surely seen it, figured a photo would be an easy, safe gig, and pursued the cash. 

Just as he’d taught her. _Goddamn it._

From what he’d learned, there had been an anthrax attack at Neptune Heights Friday evening, approximately forty minutes after the alert came in. Veronica was on site, given the tracking data for the Le Baron. The Balboa County Sheriff’s Department had stressed there had been no deaths, but sixty mall patrons were being quarantined and cared for. As all but two were students at Neptune High, classes had been suspended for a week beyond Spring Break to accommodate seniors impacted by the incident. 

The privileges of the wealthy.

There was a list of confirmed victims in quarantine. Veronica was not on it. Keith had called twice now to confirm, and had been dismissed both times. When he pointed out his daughter’s car was in the lot, he’d been told she must have left the mall on foot and fled to safety, and should be _returned immediately for screening and treatment._

No admissions at local hospitals. Nothing at the morgue. No activity on her cards or cell phone. She was gone without a trace. A ghost.

_Veronica is fine. She’s a fighter._

He repeated the mantra as he repaired the hinge on the kitchen cupboard. He repeated it as his fists curled in Sheriff Lamb’s office while he filed a missing persons report for his daughter, warning Lamb that any further insinuation his daughter had run off like his wife would be met with swift, silencing force. He repeated it as he spoke with Steven Preston at the Erwich Labs, who insisted he had no idea why his missing colleague would release anthrax, nor was he sure where she would have procured it. 

_He’s lying._

Something had rubbed him the wrong way about Preston from the moment he’d accepted this case. The story had never quite made sense. Corporate espionage was common, particularly in STEM, but the urgency with which Tedesco was being sought, the constant desire for updates coupled with an unusually cavalier attitude… It was as if Preston wanted Keith to come close, only to fail.

 _What client pays for ‘almost’?_ _The kind who might lie about his daughter being in quarantine for “anthrax” exposure,_ Keith decided as he assembled his gear in the offices of Mars Investigations. 

Lamb was useless. The Feds wouldn’t step over him without compelling evidence. If he wanted the truth about Erwich Labs, Tedesco and Veronica, he’d have to do what he did best: solve the case.

* * *

**DAY THREE: NEPTUNE HEIGHTS**

He woke before both of his alarms, yanked violently from sleep by a nightmare mercifully fading fast. Flickers of fists flying through the air were all that remained as Logan yawned and rolled onto his left side, checking on his companions. One particular companion, really.

He watched as her chest rose and fell in a slow and steady rhythm, her features soft and relaxed. A loose tendril of blonde hair grazed her cheek. In sleep, Veronica looked so calm, so… young. So much like the girl he remembered from freshman year, before their parents had collided at that fucking party. Before the gossip mill had ground out her innocence, had driven her behind a wall so high, few bothered to scale it and fewer still lived to tell the tale. 

The fact he still possessed all of his limbs was… hopeful.

A glance at his wrist told him he had a solid thirty minutes before the alarms went off. Enough time to surprise her with a little _rom-com magic_ , as Dick had suggested.

Stealthily slipping from beneath the covers, he carried his shoes to the main mall corridor to avoid detection, sliding them on at the entrance to Nordstrom. He was a decent cook, thanks to his oblivious parents and a childhood spent hiding in the kitchen with Mrs. Navarro, but their limited supplies called for strategic use of resources. A breakfast smoothie would do just fine.

A quick wipe down of the counter at Orange Julius and he was ready to work. He was flexible and would drink any flavour. He assumed the potheads would enjoy mango pineapple based on Corny’s bong and whipped up a batch for them immediately. Veronica, however, was an enigma.

 _What do you know about her? Think, Logan_.

He’d never seen her drink orange juice at lunch, so a classic Julius was out. Corny had mocked her for her _boring_ pizza preferences the night before, however, so she was someone with a more classic palate. _No tropical blends or custom creations_ , he decided. _She did eat her weight in Twizzlers the night before during Easy Rider_ , he mused as he poured out Dick and Corny’s smoothies.

_Strawberry Banana. Classic and highly likable._

Satisfied with his choice, he whipped up a batch quickly. Second guessing himself, he made a triple berry smoothie as a fall-back plan and decided Veronica could pick hers first. Three flavours to choose from—surely, she would like one of them?

 _Dick had said to find out her favourite first. I skipped a step_.

Rinsing the blenders out quickly, he packed his creations into a cardboard tray and headed back to Nordstrom, where he found Veronica pacing at the entrance of the store. As she caught sight of him, she growled in a manner that reminded him of a baby tiger he’d seen once at the San Diego zoo.

“Where did you go?”

Her eyes were glaciers and he was on a collision course. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he reached her side. 

Capsized.

“That should be obvious. Breakfast.” He held out the tray with a flourish. “Triple berry, strawberry banana or mango pineapple?”

“Strawberry banana, of course. Don’t distract me. You left without telling us!” 

_I knew it_. His delight at reading her was short-lived as he noticed the way her hand shook while accepting her chosen smoothie. _She was worried._

“I didn’t think you’d wake up. I’m sorry.” 

“Preston is coming today,” she reminded him. “You were gone...”

 _Well, fuck._ Now he felt like a total asshole. Because if the roles were reversed, especially given Veronica’s work for Preston, he would have jumped to the same terrible conclusions.

“I’m fine,” he soothed. “Next time, I’ll leave a note or something, alright?”

“Okay. We all stick together. Even Dick doesn’t deserve to be cut up in a lab,” she joked weakly. 

Logan smirked, ushering her back inside the store. “Well, yeah. Waste of time, really. His brain’s a dud. No activity.”

“Thank you,” she added quietly. “For breakfast.”

“Sure.”

Was he blushing? His cheeks felt hot. Taking a long slurp of his smoothie, he waved the tray at Dick and Corny.

“See? I told you he was fine, Ronnie. Can we sleep now?” Dick whined.

A sideways glance at Veronica found her staring at her boots with a smoothie straw conveniently lodged in her mouth. No explanation to be had.

“No, Dick,” he answered for her. “The evil scientists are coming in two hours to gather test subjects, so unless you’d like to be a lab rat, we need to eat, clean up and hide.”

Corny reached for a smoothie with a yawn. “That’s easy. We hide here. It’s almost as big as Neptune High and no Mr. C. We’re totally set.”

“It’s an option, but no way to keep an eye on the SWAT,” Logan countered.

“It’s also partially on camera,” Veronica countered. “I’d rather find somewhere off camera. So far, Preston knows there are uninfected people in the mall, but he doesn’t know who or how many people. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Dick reclined on his bed, flexing a bicep. “Ronnie, I’m down with the James Bond stuff but this bod’s too buff to crawl in the bathroom fan vents.”

“Not every guy can be as cool as John McClane,” she dismissed breezily.

Logan suppressed a chuckle at Dick’s offended glare. Dick was a closet Bruce Willis fanboy. Veronica had unknowingly hit below the belt with her casual remark.

Sucking loudly on the last of his smoothie, Corny shrugged. “So if the cameras are why we can’t be here, why don’t we take over the cameras?”

“Hide in the security office?” Logan clarified. As Corny nodded, he frowned. “I mean, it’s an option, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Won’t they need to go in there to pick out new patients?”

Veronica fiddled with her smoothie straw as she paced around the group. “I can’t think of another way to release those shutters. Which means they corner and shoot us, or drag us off somewhere. We need somewhere off camera, with multiple exit routes.”

“Best place to figure that out _is_ the security office.” Finishing his own smoothie, Logan rose to his feet. “Which has a shower. Does Nordstrom have one of those?”

“Yes!” Dick leaped to his feet. “Staff rooms in the basement near the good vending machine. Dibs on first shower. I’m pretty ripe.”

Grumblings and tugged t-shirts made it clear that no one felt _fresh_. At Veronica’s suggestion, they split up to gather a change of clothing, reconvening at the staff change rooms. 

Logan made swift work of grabbing fresh boxer briefs, socks and jeans, but hesitated at a shirt. He needed practicality for combat, but he _also_ planned to maybe pull off that _date-not-a-date_ idea of his so… what did a guy wear for that? A glance at his watch told him it was _no time for this bullshit o’clock_ and he snatched a deep green Henley off the nearest rack and sighed. His ex-girlfriend always said his arms looked great in them. It would have to do.

Despite Dick’s call for first shower, Veronica was the only one standing outside the change rooms when Logan reached the basement level. Seeing her pace, he waved her inside. Her relieved smile and mumbled thanks made his heart flutter.

Doing things for someone for the sake of it, instead of a warped societal bartering, was a welcome change of pace. 

In his world, kindness came with strings attached. In this prison, they were running from militarized police and unethical scientists, but they made their own rules. He’d take a silver lining, razor-thin as it might be, where he found one.

“Hey! Who’s in the shower?”

Logan glanced up, eyeing Dick’s Hawaiian shirt with disdain. “Ladies first.”

Dick elbowed Corny and made a whip-cracking sound. “Told you.”

“And I’m telling you, one more time: if you want a shower today, you will respect Veronica. _Both of you_.”

A firm glare and Dick shrugged in defeat. Corny nodded affably, taking a hit off his prized bong.

“How much weed did you pack in your bag, Corny?”

“Enough,” was his cryptic reply.

Logan hoped he was right. He didn’t care to spend a day cooped up in their glass menagerie if those two couldn’t ride the pineapple express.

* * *

“It’s ten to nine.”

“I know!”

“They’re coming—“

“Logan, I _know!_ ”

Veronica shimmied the broomstick deeper inside the vent, nudging their rigged CB radio just a little closer to the centre of the security office. If they couldn’t be here when Preston arrived, she wanted ears on the place. It wasn’t as good as the bugs her dad kept around the office, but a walkie duct taped to listen on a separate channel would have to do. 

“There! Let’s get out of here.”

Passing the broom to Logan, she hopped down from the step ladder and hurriedly rammed it inside the utility closet. _Nothing to see here._ Nothing to see in the rear service corridor behind the west elevator bank, either, an odd blind spot Logan had located after running through the security cameras. It was where Dick and Corny were waiting for them now.

Locking the office up, they cut into the rear corridor just as the sound of steel doors shuddering echoed through the sunlight-streaked halls of Neptune Heights. Veronica’s breath hitched as Logan’s hand gripped hers tightly. They’d used a service entrance last time. If they were opening the shutters…

_How many people are coming this time?_

“Hurry,” Logan murmured, tugging her along the maze of grey concrete and fire-resistant doors.

She quickened her pace with a nervous backwards glance. “This isn’t good.”

They didn’t dare risk the heavy footfalls of a run, but a brisk walk carried them westward to the elevator bank. Dick was hefting his mannequin leg, surprisingly focused. Corny held a meat mallet from Nordstrom’s kitchen department, his expression somewhere between disbelief and dismay.

“There’s a lot of them coming,” Veronica hissed. “We need to be extra quiet.”

Dick’s jaw fell open, but a shake of Logan’s head silenced him. Grateful, Veronica turned on their radio to its lowest setting, tuning it first to SWAT’s general channel. Standard bursts of chatter punctuated the static—clearing corridors, opening doors—and then, the voice she was waiting for.

“A Unit, proceeding to security office, over.”

 _Steven Preston, you asshole_.

“They’re really going to risk it,” Logan muttered. “Hubris.”

“Hummus?” Corny murmured. “I could go for some shawarma right now.”

“It means pride, arrogance,” Logan explained patiently.

“Maybe he’ll get split like a Thanksgiving wishbone. A girl can dream,” Veronica muttered. “Switching to our spy channel.”

Veronica had spent an hour experimenting the previous day, feeling out the communications of the enemy lines. The mall typically used channels 2 and 3. SWAT was using 1 and 2, and Preston’s team were using 4 and 5. To avoid cross-feed, she’d set channel 8 as their spy channel, figuring it was far enough from the rest to be detected. 

_Let’s hope it works._

The jangle of keys, a door thudding. The jostling of bodies and equipment. Chattering between men over the passwords and controls. It sounded like Neptune Heights had been compelled to turn over their logins for _security_. The mention of _anthrax_ perked up her ears.

“Do you think that’s how they’re covering this up?” she whispered.

Logan shrugged. “It’s believable enough. The Neptune Elite wouldn’t dig much deeper.”

“My dad will.”

_“Sir, there’s twenty-four of them in the food court. We cannot retrieve them all safely.”_

_“So shoot the ones we don’t need!”_ Preston snapped.

_“Sir… these are human beings. Innocent civilians. You’ve told us this will wear off eventually. That would violate several—“_

_“We need test subjects to cure them, Sergeant! How do you propose we go about that?”_ Preston snapped.

“These guys are super baddies,” Corny muttered. 

“The worst,” Veronica agreed. “They can’t get away with this. They won’t, not if I have anything to say about it.”

She noticed Logan’s fists clenched at his sides and reached out to squeeze his arm. He startled slightly at her touch, then relaxed, his hands slowly uncurling. She was angry too, angrier than she’d been in a long time. But they needed to be smart, and she sensed he was five seconds from running out into the corridors and challenging a small army of men with assault rifles. 

“If they set them loose again…”

“Then we’ll lure them back with the clock in my pack,” she reassured him. “We did it before, we’ll do it again.”

_“And the survivors? Sir, we can use the cameras to sweep for their location.”_

A hand slapped a surface loudly—Preston’s? _“They’re contaminated. We’ve discussed this. Even if they are asymptomatic, it’s best we leave them quarantined to protect the outside world.”_

“Bullshit!” Logan hissed. 

“That’s not how quarantine works, dude. Even I know that,” Dick scoffed.

_“Dropping eastern shutter in ten, nine, eight…”_

“They’re going to drop one side and pray,” she mumbled. “Idiots.”

“Idiots with a lot of guns.” Logan kicked the elevator bank with his sneaker. “Which makes them feel invincible.”

Veronica sat the radio down and reached for her bat. If it all went to hell, she wanted to be ready. She’d tied her hair back in a bun—no grabbing by rage zombie hands—and picked out a form-fitting black tee and jeans for clothing. No snags, no flashy clothes, nothing to grip onto easily. Combat ready. She’d really hoped she wouldn’t have to test her choices, but Preston seemed determined to jam his head up his ass and unleash the apocalypse.

_“They’re stampeding!”_

_“We only need three, Bravo Unit!”_

_“Deploying tear gas!”_

The radio erupted in a furious mix of live shouts and the distant chatter of radio captured from the walkies of the security office occupants. Beyond the safety of the access corridor in which they’d taken shelter, groans, bangs and shouts could be heard. Dick and Corny pressed closer to the wall, Dick testing the swing of his mannequin leg with a grim look. Logan stepped beside Veronica, his bat in hand as his gaze swept side to side.

“If it’s going down, do you want to risk east, where we can try and escape the mall, or head west and bunker down?”

“We exit the mall during this panic and we’ll be shot on sight, no questions asked,” Veronica replied. “We’re safer in here.”

“Good. We’re on the same page.”

 _“Drop the shutter!”_ a panicked voice bellowed as shots rang out.

“Had they not tried to shoot me, I might have offered my consulting services on how to herd rage zombies,” Logan mused. “Hmm, no, still wouldn’t have. But I would have declined very politely.”

“’Kindly go fuck yourself. Best wishes, Logan Echolls, Esquire.’ Something like that?”

He chuckled darkly as they listened to a flurry of footsteps fleeing the security office. “More or less.”

Veronica switched the radio channel back to SWAT’s comm line, listening as they argued over how to manage the four infected they’d taken charge of and politely told Preston that no, they couldn’t put the extra one _back_ in the food court. To their horror, shots rang out once more.

“That fucking bastard!”

Dick’s eyes widened. “He totally killed one, didn’t he?”

“He murdered someone,” Logan hissed. “For no reason.”

“Not cool. When do we beat his ass down?”

Veronica held up her hand. “When he’s not surrounded by an armed militia. Shh!”

_“Charlie to Alpha team, over.”_

_“Alpha to Charlie, go ahead.”_

_“Have any survivors been located? We’re receiving calls for missing persons not on the list of quarantined parties, over.”_

A long silence. _“We are not on a search and rescue mission, over.”_

Preston had jumped in, again making it clear that his project—and protecting its secrecy—were paramount. They were right to hide. Their only chance of survival was intervention from an outside force—FBI, probably. Otherwise, they’d need to restore communications, escape the mall undetected or survive three weeks.

Veronica quickly ticked off a mental checklist. The landlines were cut and cell towers had been jammed. Food supplies were dwindling thanks to the primary food court serving as their zombie prison. 

_I hope Logan knows this mall as well as he claims, because it’s time to plan a jail break._

* * *

Watching a group of SWAT officers jostle each other casually on an exterior camera, Veronica seethed.

“This is a game to them. They don’t care about the _human beings_ they’re taking as prisoners.”

“Or the ones they’re leaving to die in here,” Logan mumbled. “We can’t wait out the three weeks, can we?”

“Preston’s too erratic. On the bright side,” Veronica offered, leaning against the security console, “I guarantee you my dad is one of the people calling the hotline. Which means he’s looking for me.”

“So the Sheriff is looking for us? Cool. I say we kick back, eat pizza and wait for him to bust the bad cops outside,” Corny suggested. “I like your dad. He never confiscated my stash, just told me to take it home. Papa Mars totally inhaled in college.”

As Corny rolled a joint, Veronica sighed deeply. “We can’t just kick back, as much as I would love to sit around and wait for a rescue. Eventually Preston is going to realize we’ve seen too much.”

“Snitches get stitches,” Dick chimed in, running a finger over his throat. “ _Comprendo_. Super baddies are gonna bust us.”

Logan nudged her arm gently. “You’re still thinking roof camera?”

“Definitely. We need eyes and, if possible, ears. We should also assess our food supplies tonight. Once we know their set-up, we can plan an escape route.” Glancing at their companions, she huddled closer to Logan. “Who do you think is a better look-out for me on the roof while I plant this camera?”

“I’m going with you, Veronica.”

“But we need eyes and ears here—“

“Dick can handle that. We’ll have a radio.” She started to protest, but Logan’s steely gaze left no room for debate. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and I meant it. Hey, Dick. Got an important job for you.”

Veronica watched with a mixture of nausea and bemusement as Logan introduced Dick to the camera controls and radio, giving him strict instructions to monitor for any entry to the mall or activity on the perimeter cameras. Dick was oddly focused, quickly demonstrating the ability to cycle through views and zoom in at Logan’s direction.

“Don’t worry, Ronnie. Skynet’s not getting past the Dickster.”

“Skynet?”

“Go with it,” Logan whispered in her ear.

Fuck it. If calling them Skynet made Dick pay attention, let him. Slinging her backpack over her shoulders, she reached for her backpack. 

“Alright, Echolls, let’s grab some spy gear.”

Best Buy wasn’t typically the place to find CCTV or spy equipment, but thanks to their imprisonment in an upscale zip code, CCTV cameras were actually stocked at this location. They were a little clunky, as they’d discovered in setting up their gear within the mall, but better than nothing. Some even bore internal memory storage for 24 hours. These were the ones they’d chosen for their purposes, downloading them daily to a Macbook _borrowed_ from the electronics store, and they found one more on the shelf for their roof mission. It wouldn’t record sound, however, and Veronica was determined to capture that, if possible.

_The rigged walkie worked, but the battery will drain. It won’t handle long term monitoring and won’t pick up anything from the ground._

“You have that look,” Logan called out from the Geek Squad office.

“What look?”

“That cross between _pissed off_ and _world domination_. What are you up to?”

“Trying to add sound to our video. If I had my gear from work, I’d be fine…” Staring at the radios on the shelves, she sighed. “If Mac were here, I bet she could build a listening device that transmitted off an AM frequency for me.”

“Mac?”

“Friend of mine. Very good with computers and all things nerdy.” Accepting defeat, she threw her hands up. “Let’s get the camera going. If sound is carrying up there, we can always rig a walkie and find a way to run a charging base to the rooftop. Eyes are better than nothing, right?”

Logan emerged from the office, shaking his head. “Veronica, do you think 99% of our class would even think to stockpile water, let alone rig cameras on these clowns? Eyes are more than enough. Stop selling yourself short…. Er, bad choice of words.”

“Ha, ha.” 

“I like to think of you as ‘fun size’,” he goaded playfully as they exited the store and headed up a service stairwell. “Like Halloween candy.”

“And you’re full size, huh?”

She regretted the words the moment she spoke them, her cheeks hot as he spun around in the narrow stairwell. Their faces scant inches apart in the concrete corridor, he shrugged casually and grinned.

“So I’m told,” he demurred as he depressed the crash bar leading to the roof access.

The rush of cool breeze on her face was a welcome relief. _There’s no time for… are you FLIRTING? With Logan Echolls of all people?! Concentrate!_

Giving her head a shake, she crouched low as she stepped outside, mindful of the possibility of air surveillance. Scanning the sky, she saw no signs of helicopters, media or police. No buildings were close enough—or high enough—to afford a rooftop sniper position that she could see, but it was best if they kept low and spoke softly. She whispered her observations to Logan, who nodded firmly. Placing a nearby brick in the door to keep it ajar, he followed her out onto the paved roof.

Aside from a small structure with a single locked door and the raised edge of brick, they were exposed here. No cover, no shadows. She didn’t like it. Good thing she’d thought to rig up a little old school detective trick, the kind that seemed implausible in movies but actually worked. She’d used it in a warehouse stakeout last year to bust an employee stealing high-end electronics and replacing them with empty boxes.

Unzipping her backpack, she retrieved the telescopic handle of a window washer, to which she’d affixed a small rectangular mirror she’d swiped from the auto section at Best Buy. Crouching close to the edge of the roof, she gingerly extended the mirror over the brick guard wall, aiming it at the ground.

A small cluster of SWAT officers were standing beneath them, oblivious to their presence. Their relaxed posture and the coffee cups clutched by two of them suggested this might be a break area. _Perfect_. The less vigilant, the better.

“Stuff like this?” Logan whispered. “This is why people talk about you at lunch, Veronica.”

“Is that a good thing?” she muttered, shifting the mirror to capture the scene around the corner.

“I think so, yeah. Here, let me help.” His hand brushed hers, finding a grip on her makeshift spyglass. “I can get it a bit further out on this side.”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” 

Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry as she leaned closer. She stared into the spotless surface of the mirror, ignoring the faint scent of the ocean drifting off Logan’s Henley. Ignoring the way his body tensed as she drew near and what that might mean. Instead, she gasped softly at the sight of the billowing tunnel leading into interconnected trailers.

“What the hell is that?”

“Anthrax,” Logan muttered. “The smoke people will bend over and have blown up their asses…”

“People want an explanation. A palatable sound bite, a tale of a boogeyman with rules to keep them safe.” Taking back the handle, she retracted the mirror. “We need a camera on this side,” she murmured. “Whatever they’re doing in there… That’s all Preston.”

Logan hummed softly to himself, then pointed diagonally upwards. “We’re in luck.”

A steel pole, holding a floodlight, was tucked behind the slanted entry to the stairwell access point. Veronica eyed it intently, gauging height and its angle.

“We’d have to secure it pretty high up, Logan.”

“Yeah.”

“They could spot us taking it down every day for the download.”

“So we do it at night,” he countered. “I’ll shimmy up there and swap the drive. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

No, she didn’t. _Damn it._ Why she’d thought she could plant a camera that could be covertly changed out… She had to consider a power source on the roof, after all. It couldn’t be suspended over the brick edge. 

“Fine, let’s do it. But be careful,” she urged.

She dug through her bag, handing him the camera, wires, bracket and a few zip ties, which would probably be necessary to hold the clamp in place on the pole. Frowning as she examined the lamp post, she extracted the roll of duct tape. Logan’s eyebrows peaked skyward, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he transferred the equipment to a small backpack he’d acquired in Nordstrom. 

“You have the multi-tool, right?”

“I know I’ve lived a kept life, but I did think to bring a few things from the office, remember?” Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Logan jerked his head to his right. “Keep your eyes on the prize while I get our eye in the sky.”

Slowly, she shimmied her body into position and extended the mirror over the ledge, watching as a single officer leaned on a portable metal detector outside the apparent decontamination tunnel. Flashing a thumbs up at Logan, she found her attention darting between him ascending the pole and a more thorough assessment of Preston’s makeshift lab. While her reach was limited, she was able to sort out at least two mobile facilities on site, large enough to hold at least twenty people.

 _Are they experimenting on the four infected right here?_

It made no sense. Surely, these were temporary facilities meant for initial testing. Maybe they’d cleared the sixty quarantined shoppers here before transferring them elsewhere. But if that was the case… why the fancy lab in the parking lot of a shopping mall?

“You doing okay?” she called out quietly.

“Yeah… just trying to get the best angle on all the buildings.”

“Define _all_.”

“There’s at least four portable labs, Veronica… This is fucked,” Logan muttered. “And a bus.”

“A bus?” She shifted the mirror around, desperate to see more of their set up. “Which means they’re taking people elsewhere. Erwich Labs, if I had to guess.”

She missed her father. She missed his steady mind, his deep well of knowledge about this town. In hindsight, Veronica suspected her father had caught a whiff of Preston’s shadiness in this case—had perhaps been digging into him on the side. She’d missed all the warnings signs, but Keith Mars was a seasoned cop and investigator. Had he known that the pursuit of Evelyn Tedesco was not as it seemed?

She missed him for his hugs, too. His comforting voice, and the way she knew everything would be okay if he said it would be. She needed to hear that now, more than ever.

A flicker of movement in the periphery pulled her from her moment of self-pity and she adjusted the mirror. Her grip on the telescopic handle tightened as she noticed a stirring in the decontamination tunnel.

“Logan, you need to hurry.”

“Almost done…”

There was a man… no, _two men_ and a woman… And someone in a blue gown in the tunnel now. Someone who was struggling. From the pavement below, she heard a faint shout over the breeze.

“We have company,” she growled. “Leave it and get _down_.”

She fiddled with the mirror, straining to see the blue-clad figure. They were pulling back to the mobile unit farthest to Veronica’s left, striking out at the men as SWAT rushed in. In her haste to adjust, the mirror flipped sideways, catching the sunlight. A flickering, a flash. A fucking beacon to the world screaming, _Come and Catch Us._

Veronica yanked the mirror back in a panic, heart thumping against her chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, get _down_!”

Her fear drove him from his feet to the frigid ground, chest curled around his pack. They listened together, limbs tensed, palms pressed beneath them. Ready to sprint for the cover of the mall.

Veronica’s heart was in her throat as she cursed her carelessness. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. Maybe they were distracted by the… patient? Was that who they were restraining?

“Did they look up?” Logan whispered.

“I don’t know. The mirror slipped…. The sun…”

Logan drew a deep breath. “Dick’s not on the radio.”

“He could be too high to work a radio,” Veronica muttered, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, I screwed up.“

“It’s fine.” A hand brushed hers, warm and soft. “I mean, the camera’s done.”

“It is?” Her head lolled to the side as she glared at Logan. “Then why were you still up there?”

“Duct tape reinforcement for wind and weather. Watching the show.” Logan smirked. “Guess I enjoy snooping too.”

“I do _not_ snoop!”

“You’re _paid_ to snoop.”

Veronica blew an errant strand of hair from her eye. “Can we go inside then? I feel like a sitting duck and you’re pissing me off.”

It wasn’t really Logan upsetting her. It was the fear clawing away at her brain. She needed to be inside, where they had cover and cameras. Inside was where they held the upper hand. Here, she was too vulnerable, too bare—in more ways than one.

She crouched and scurried to the access door, kicking the brick out as she held it open for Logan. His brow furrowed deeply as she stepped side, letting him pass by. Sucking in her chest, ensuring they wouldn’t touch.

“Veronica…”

“Hurry,” she urged him.

His gaze averted, he pressed his back to the wall and headed downstairs, waiting on the first landing for her. With a firm shake of the roof access door to confirm it was secure, she stomped down the steps, still frustrated with her amateur and potentially costly mistake.

“We need to check the perimeter cameras, see if they’re thinking of heading inside,” she rambled. “I’m pretty sure the patient or whoever had them busy, but we need to know—“

“We’ll check. Veronica—“

“What?”

Logan’s arm stretched across the stairwell, blocking her path. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve taken on a herd of infected people. We know where to hide.”

She choked down her protests, knowing he wouldn’t listen. But she knew they were valid. She knew she’d risked their lives and she would never forget that. She took a step forward, but Logan’s arm gripped the opposing railing, holding her on the bottom step. His breath on her flushed cheeks rocked her back on her heels.

_Danger, danger…_

“And for what it’s worth?” he added with a crooked grin. “Being paid to snoop is a cool job. That was fun.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re ready for Mars Investigations,” she managed to counter playfully. “But stick around long enough and you’ll learn a few tricks.”

“I’m up for it.”

Veronica swallowed hard as he spun away and jogged down the steps, wondering if she pressed her ear to his chest, she would hear his heart pounding as fast as her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special note: this is the last chapter I expect to post for the next while.
> 
> I will be participating in NaNoWriMo this year, tackling a long overdue project (I hope). After November, I will be returning my attention to Mirrored Perspective for a bit and moving it forward. I do have a full outline for this story. It will be finished. It may just take time around some very heavy and real personal responsibilities that continue to weigh heavy, on top of writing obligations.
> 
> Stay safe, be well and remember: cardio, double tap, and choose your quarantine buddies wisely (if you can). 
> 
> Reviews are also really lovely, and so very appreciated. If you'd like to watch me flail for NaNo, find me on Discord or Twitter.


	8. Day Three Concludes/Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to 2021 and zombies did not eat our faces off!
> 
> I know it's been a while and for those of you on the VM FF Discord, you're well aware that 2020 was incredibly difficult, especially at the end. Thank you for the support, patience and kindness. I hope all of you are safe and coping okay.
> 
> Since it's been a while....  
> PREVIOUSLY IN OUR CARDBOARD CASTLE:  
> Veronica and Keith Mars accepted a case from Erwich Labs to investigate corporate espionage after one of their scientists went AWOL.  
> Keith, unknown to Veronica, suspected more than their client Stephen Preston was telling.  
> Veronica pursued a credit card hit while Keith was out of town to Neptune Heights and witnessed a strange argument between Preston and the target, Dr Evelyn Tedesco, who proceeded to release a virus in the mall.  
> The virus appears to drive infected into a rage frenzy - they will attack others, bite them, tear them limb from them basically. Preston claims effects subside in 3 weeks.  
> Veronica, Logan, Dick and Corny have found themselves uninfected and trapped in the mall with infected people they have herded and contained in the food court  
> Preston and local SWAT are claiming the attack was anthrax.  
> Preston may be experimenting on the infected.  
> Veronica and Logan are gathering evidence of Preston's virus and activities after Veronica determined the government requested the virus as a bioweapon. Veronica may have tipped off Preston and the SWAT brigade while Logan set up a roof camera.  
> Lianne Mars and Aaron Echolls had an affair, leading to Keith losing his job as sheriff and Veronica being shunned at school for two years.
> 
> Oh yeah, and Logan has liked Veronica for years and done nothing about it... until close quarters have encouraged him to make a move. 
> 
> Whew! Let's go!

**DAY THREE CONCLUDES: NEPTUNE HEIGHTS**

“Ugh! It smells like that time that shark croaked on the sand on our trip to Hawaii,” Dick exclaimed, plugging his nose.

“What did you _think_ rotting sushi would smell like?” Veronica snapped, dumping another shelf into a large silver bin.

“I don’t know, that green stuff always sticking to my board at that crappy beach near your place? _Ow!_ ” Dick winced as Logan’s elbow jabbed him in the rib. “What was that for?”

“Manners, Dick. Why don’t you help Corny empty the fridge?”

“Fine. But if anything has eyes, I’m not touching it. I don’t like when my food stares back.”

“Don’t… eat… I give up,” Logan mumbled, turning to Veronica. “If he shoves it in his mouth, he deserves the food poisoning.”

“We have to sleep beside him. Share bathrooms with him,” Veronica hissed.

Logan winked, reaching for a tray of rancid salmon rolls. “We’ll lock him in the holding cell in the security office with a bucket. With these as payback. This is foul.”

“Better now than a week from now, when we can smell it through the entire mall?”

Veronica was fast regretting this decision, even if it was keeping her from ruminating on her stupid mistake with the mirror on the roof. Maybe leaving the sushi locked behind the security gate would have been wiser—except the sushi stand’s proximity to the pizza place ensured eventual stench drift. Ignoring the problem, hoping for things to fester in a contained fashion, was sadly not in the cards. The peppermint foot cream she’d found in a bath and body store and dolloped beneath her nose was doing little to combat the smell, but judging from Corny’s greenish pallor, it was worth the weird burning chill on her upper lip.

“I hate being logical,” she muttered, tying off the bag. “That’s the display case. Hopefully Tweedle Dumb and Dumber have the fridge in order.”

Logan’s pointed stare earned a heavy sigh. _Yeah, I know. But a girl can dream, Echolls._

At least the weird sexual tension between them after the rooftop mission had eased off. They were back to their usual banter and banding together against the brotherhood of the bong. No more intense stares, no more thinking highly inappropriate, out of nowhere thoughts about Logan’s lips, arms or ass (all of which had crossed her mind this afternoon, much to her annoyance).

Shoving their way inside the kitchen of Sushi Sun, Veronica was unsurprised to find Corny wielding an enormous chef’s knife, chopping up plastic containers and boxes while Dick whipped rotting wrapped fish at a trash can—and frequently missed, judging from the wet sheen on the floor.

“He’s your friend. Deal with this?” Veronica pleaded.

“Take five,” Logan suggested softly. “Why don’t you assess our rations for dinner tonight?”

“Thank you.”

As she pivoted and retreated out the door, she heard Logan call out behind her: “Remember this when I want extra cheese sauce on my fries, ‘Ronica!”

Smirking, she peeled off the heavy black gloves she’d worn for their odious task and made her way to Fry Works. She would gladly ration an extra helping of artificial goo in exchange for a reprieve from the patience-testing twosome.

As she unlocked the gate for the French fry chain, she took mental stock of their food inventory. Having sacrificed the majority of the food court by entrapping the infected with the fire shutters, they’d paid a dear price for safety: a good eighty percent of the food in the mall was locked inside with the angry, shrieking masses. Orange Julius offered them a very limited selection of hot food and smoothies, but the fresh produce needed to be used sooner, rather than later. The pizza restaurant could provide economical meals, if Corny and Dick didn’t inhale an entire pie each. The sushi stand was useless, leaving them fries and cookies as their remaining sustenance.

Examining the kitchen, Veronica was alarmed to realize that Fry Works was due for a delivery that never arrived on the day of Tedesco’s little bio-attack. There were potatoes on hand, but not nearly as many as she’d hoped there would be. Glancing at the prep charts on the wall, the numbers were a bit grim: they had maybe eight meals each.

“We need to skip lunches,” she murmured anxiously. “Or we’re not making it past a week.”

It would ensure survival for three weeks, should it come to that. Alternating with pizza days would mean they could have larger dinners every other day. Supplies were more ample down the corridor. Breakfast smoothies with extra protein powder should hold them over. _I’m not the problem_ , she mused, digging through the stock of toppings. _I can definitely eat, but I’ll stuff a few cookies in my face for lunch and be content. It’s the insatiable stoners who are the problem_.

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

Veronica startled as Logan entered the kitchen, sipping a can of Coke. “Where did you get that?”

“Sushi place. We found a few cases of drinks including juices in the very back. Now, why are you looking like there’s a pop quiz in Trig?”

“Because they were due for a shipment of potatoes that never made it inside, thanks to the viral weapon unleashed in the mall.” Veronica gestured to the stock on hand and sighed. “We need to ration now unless we want to be absolutely miserable in a week.”

Logan shrugged, hefting a bag of potatoes onto a prep counter. “Then we ration. We’re still eating tonight?”

“Yeah, as long as we stick to the prep charts. And we have plenty of cheese sauce,” she added with a wink.

“Good, because I just made those two chuck the bags as punishment for whipping around fish carcasses and they’re going to need bribery.”

“So, bacon?” Veronica spun to retrieve a healthy number of strips from the fridge with a happy hum. “That always works with me.”

As she turned around, she found herself practically pinned by Logan. The cool air of the fridge billowing against her back was powerless against the heat in her cheeks as he plucked the package from her hand and smirked.

“Good to know,” he murmured.

_Shit, shit, shit._ They’d been doing so well. Normal, easy, non-sexy bantering. _What the hell is this?_ Forcing down the urge to flee, she held her ground, ignoring her reflexive observation that Logan’s body was a mere inch away from hers.

“What about you? Is cheese your only fry weakness?”

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but stepped away as the doors opened, revealing a disgruntled Dick and a surprisingly calm Corny. Veronica slammed the fridge, her conflicted emotions over Logan forgotten as she studied their companions with concern. Corny’s eyes were… _Aww, hell!_

“I’m starving!” Corny announced.

“I bet you are,” Veronica grumbled, raising her eyebrows at Logan.

Catching on, Logan massaged his temples. “Alright, help us cut potatoes while Veronica explains how we’re rationing food for the next eighteen days.”

Dick stood agape, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Peeling potatoes, rations. What is this dude, the army?”

Circling past Logan and reaching for a jug of oil, Veronica gritted her teeth. “No, it’s survival, and you’re the one who keeps talking about the apocalypse, so start acting like the people in the games you like so damn much.”

“Alright, alright!” Dick stomped across the room and joined Logan. “But seriously bro, when did we sign up for basic training and who was stupid enough to take us?”

“On the bright side,” Logan whispered, leaning towards her, “it seems Corny didn’t share with him. Only one munchie hound tonight.”

“I’m nostalgic for high, happy Dick.” Veronica hesitated as Logan grinned. “You _know_ what I meant.”

“Do I?” Logan taunted.

“I will deep fry you if you keep it up.”

“Is there chili?” Corny asked. “I want chili on my fries. And bacon.”

Veronica’s eyes widened, considering their sleep arrangements. “Switch me beds?” she begged Logan

“Not a chance,” he replied, passing her a bowl of neatly julienned potatoes. “If you ask really nicely, I might let you bunk with me, though.”

_Is there a walk-in freezer? I need to take a vacation there._

“I may take you up on that if he finds chili,” she replied as casually as possible.

She hurried away, refusing to consider what exactly Logan’s slack-jawed surprise meant.

* * *

“You have that face again.”

“What face?” Veronica asked. “My ‘I’d rather be spelunking’ face?”

“No, although I can recommend a cave for when we escape. You’re worrying about the roof.”

Busted. While her bacon cheese fries were delicious, they weren’t enough to keep her mind from drifting back to that harrowing moment when the mirror slipped. That _glint_ in the sunlight haunted her. What if Preston had seen it? What if they were planning a night attack?

“Logan, you know how dangerous they are.”

“I do. And we checked all of the cameras, listened to the radio for an hour after we came back from planting the camera, and not a word. And we know they’re not exactly Mensa.” She absently stabbed her fries as Logan squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “It was a mistake, Veronica. We’re always listening, and we’re in this together. You don’t have to carry it all on these petite but capable shoulders, alright?”

“Fine,” she relented, managing a half-smile. “I still feel a little guilty, but I’ll try and wallow less.”

“Deal.”

They circled around the western end of the food court, the soft groans of the trapped infected carrying through the fire shutters. Veronica’s eyes drifted to the hidden cameras in the nearby plants, wondering what footage had been captured of the morning’s visit from Preston and his goons. What footage would be captured of them as they continued to pace and plan an escape within their posh prison.

“You ever feel like we’re trapped on the world’s worst reality show?”

Logan speared a forkful of his so-called nacho fries, pondering her question. “Nah. If we were, Trina would be here, pushing her tits up for the camera and talking about every celebrity who’s ever been in a fifty-mile radius of her.”

“Trina?”

“My sister. She went to a private school specializing in the arts,” Logan explained. “Unlike me, she loves the limelight. She’s spent her entire life trying to be at least as good as Tara Reid so Daddy Dearest will be proud of her.”

“And you? How do you feel about him?” Veronica probed gently, finishing off her bacon and cheese slathered fries.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his expression a mixture of anguish and cold rage. “I hate him. I wish he was dead,” he confessed softly.

“For the infidelity? Or…”

“More. Much more.” He shoved his empty container into a nearby trash can. “Can we…?”

Gingerly, she tossed her container after his. “Of course. I’m sorry.” 

And she was. She had no idea Logan’s relationship with his father was so pained, so filled with anger. It worried her, the way he flinched at his name. Almost as if someone had struck him.

“What about you and your mom?” 

Veronica’s hands slid inside the pockets of her hoodie. “Every story has a villain. She’s the one who left. The one who destroyed my dad’s life. She doesn’t even call or write. I don’t have a mother.”

The tear slipped free before she felt it brimming and she hurried ahead of him, eager to hide the evidence of her momentary weakness. She didn’t let them see her cry anymore. It wasn’t safe. Vulnerability was exploited, a wound that cruel fingers could dig into. 

“Veronica? You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she lied. “Hey, why don’t we go pick some better movies to watch later from Best Buy?”

Her voice was shaky, a wellspring of tears lodged in the lump in her throat. _Calm down, it’s nothing, it’s old news. Mom is a lying, cheating drunk whose idea of an apology is a postcard with a cactus._ _Boohoo, Veronica._ A hand clamped on her shoulder and she startled, squeaking softly.

“Hey,” Logan insisted, tugging her to face him. “What she did was fucked up. Leaving you and your dad, it was awful. It’s okay to be upset about it.”

“There’s no point in being sad anymore. It won’t make her come back. It won’t undo the damage she’s done.”

“I didn’t say sad,” Logan corrected. “I said _upset_. Angry, hurt, sad—a spectrum.”

“Anger is useful fuel. It keeps you safe,” she deflected. “I don’t want to talk about her, alright?”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, his eyes skirting the floor. “Sorry. Can we talk about something parent-adjacent?”

“That depends.”

“What _do_ people say to you at school? About our parents, I mean.”

Veronica tilted her head askance, rocking back on her heels. “You can’t be serious. You’re the King of those assholes. You _know_ what they’ve been saying for the last two years.”

His chestnut eyes fixed upon her as he edged closer. “No, I know what they were saying for the first six months, because they’re assholes. Not because I’m their king or told them to. I was dealing with my own shit at home. Once I realized…” His voice trailed off as he drew a deep breath. “I told them to stop it once I knew things were shitty for you. That’s why I want to know what’s happening _now_.”

Veronica found herself speechless, studying him carefully for signs of deceit and finding none. _He told them to back off?_ Running through her memories, she couldn’t recall an overt insult where Logan was present, only laughter she _assumed_ was more of the same.

_What if he meant it when he said it was about my PI work?_

“Veronica, please tell me.”

“They’re your friends,” she protested.

“Are they?” he countered. “’Deep breaths are very helpful at shallow parties.’ Barbara Walters.”

“So you’re calling your friends shallow?”

“I’m saying I do a lot of deep breathing. It keeps me Zen.”

They resumed their walk around the upper level, maintaining a leisurely pace. Veronica stole glances at Logan, debating whether to open up about the verbal abuse of the Shelly Pomroys and Madison Sinclairs or keep it to herself. 

“They mostly call me a slut like my mother,” she blurted out impulsively. “Imply I’ve fucked the entire football team. Things like that.”

Logan sucked in air sharply. “Who has?”

“Who hasn’t? That’s a shorter list of 09’ers,” she spat. “You, now I think of it. Meg Manning is nice to me. Carrie Bishop hasn’t said anything in a long time but I worked a case for her. A few people on the tennis team, maybe. That’s it?”

“Dick?”

“Asked me if my trailer had running water a few weeks ago after gym class. Suggested I enjoy Neptune’s fine showers and experience hot water.”

“I’ll deal with him,” Logan grumbled. “And when we’re out of here, it’ll end. I promise you, Veronica, I have never said anything about you. The shit our parents did, it had nothing to do with us. It’s bad enough your dad was punished for my father’s sins. He didn’t deserve that.”

She glanced sideways, managing a small smile. Hearing him say it… well, aside from Cliff and her close friends, no one had ever admitted how unfair it all was. 

“He’s a really good dad,” she told him. “He was a good sheriff, too. He cares so much about Neptune.” 

“It’s this town’s loss. Lamb’s a tool.”

_Wait a minute. That’s so familiar…_ It tugged on the corners of her mind, pulling at a thread just beyond reach.

“I don’t need to be protected.”

“I know you don’t,” Logan agreed. “But I’m not going to sit back while people treat you like crap over something that doesn’t involve them. It involves our families. It’s our business. They can stay out of it.”

“Um, okay. Thank you.”

_The text._

The words clicked into place as a memory flickered to mind. The night of the recall election, where her world completely crashed down. Her father was removed from office in favour of a complete buffoon. Her mother’s apology postcard had arrived the same day, pouring salt in the wound. Her father had plastered on a brave face for his concession call and the friends gathered at their house, but his soft tears in the bedroom down the hall had broken her heart.

Lying in her bedroom, silent tears trickling down, she’d been surprised by a text from an unknown number just past midnight.

_It’s this town’s loss._

She’d answered, asking for a name, but no reply was ever received. She’d run the number through her father’s software without his knowledge and ended up at a dead end. It was a burner cell, untraceable. 

_Was it Logan?_

“So, movies again?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Well, do you have any other ideas?”

Logan gestured across the aisle to a small toy and game boutique. “I was thinking something a little more cerebral tonight.”

“With Dick and Corny?” Veronica scoffed. “I think the most they can handle is Hungry, Hungry Hippos.”

“They have the Playstation. You and me, game night. Or are you afraid I’ll kick your ass at Scrabble?”

“You’re playing with fire,” Veronica taunted, skipping across the aisle. “I got perfect on Vocabulary on the SAT.”

Logan rushed past her, tousling her hair. “That’s cute. So did I.”

The text message, the tension between them, this little kernel of knowledge so inconsistent with his B level grades… Logan Echolls was an enigma. One she was suddenly very keen to puzzle out.

* * *

Logan’s breakfast smoothie strategy had paid off: _use what you know about Veronica’s personality and make her happy_. Tonight, he was deploying that knowledge in search of a not-quite-date night.

Veronica had always had a competitive streak. If there was a classroom competition, she aimed to win. If a teacher openly tracked performance, she aimed to be top of the class. She was the top candy seller on Pep Squad prior to her social pariah status. It wasn’t malicious or mean, like Angie Dahl. It was a secret need to feel validated. He could sense it. Hell, he could relate to it.

_Board games could be the perfect way to entice that competitive spirit out of her._

The store sat open, with no gate, as they walked along the corridor. He barely remembered it from his mission to clear the mall. In the display window, he spied a small display of games and swiftly hatched a plan for time alone with Veronica. 

After several minutes of healthy debate, they’d carted back four games to Nordstrom: Scrabble, Monopoly, Clue and Battleship. Dick and Corny arrived somewhere between Veronica eking out a Scrabble victory by ten points and Logan finding himself one sunken destroyer away from a Battleship victory.

“G2!” Veronica shouted.

“Miss.”

“You have to be lying!” she protested as Dick entered the store. “Dick, is Logan lying about his stupid boats being on G2?”

Dick paused at the table, studying the two of them as if they were aliens from another planet. “No. _Nerds_.”

Cracking his knuckles, Logan studied the board before him. There were two possible places where Veronica’s ship could still be hiding. Studying her sunken ships, he noticed something rather intriguing… a pattern in their placement. If he was right and it wasn’t a coincidence—

“A9,’ he declared calmly.

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

“So, that’s a hit?”

Veronica pouted and reached for her Sunkist. “Just stick the stupid red peg in your grid already.”

“Someone is a _sore loser_ ,” Logan chided, reclining in his chair.

“I haven’t lost yet! You still have to find the other two spots… and I have to find your carrier and look, you’re going to win, I forfeit.”

“And deny me the fun of destroying… er, your destroyer?” Logan waggled his eyebrows at her, shoving a bag of Twizzlers across the table as she rolled her eyes. “Hey, you won Scrabble and I didn’t fuss.”

Plucking a piece of licorice from the bag she swung it around in the air. “Well, we need a tiebreaker game now. Clue?”

“You have a distinctly unfair advantage as a PI,” Logan argued, packing up their Battleship cases. “Monopoly?”

Veronica laughed. “You have a distinctly unfair advantage being rich!”

From several feet away, Logan heard mumblings of _pineapples_ and knew what was coming: a Dick and Corny stoner break. _Time to hide the_ Twizzlers. On the bright side, it meant the TV would be free.

“I’ve got it: Mario Kart on the Wii. Unless you drive as terribly as you park a submarine.”

“Oh, so you’re a naval officer now?” Veronica snarked. “I call Daisy.”

“Perfect, I’m Yoshi.”

Somewhere between races five and eight, they lost track of their scores, too busy laughing at each other’s crashes and calamities. Sometime after midnight, Logan found himself slumped on the couch, a sleeping Veronica resting her head on knee. His back was sore, his legs cramped.

He didn’t dare move an inch. Closing his eyes, he allowed his fingers to tangle in the very ends of her fine blonde hair.

* * *

**DAY FOUR: NEPTUNE HEIGHTS**

She wasn’t avoiding Logan.

There were things to do. Footage to review from nine cameras, for starters. A little listening to the radio to keep tabs on Preston and his SWAT brigade. Inventory of their water supplies and snacks. A big, long to-do list that Veronica had to get done today, none of which involved avoiding a discussion of how she’d woken up on Logan Echolls’ lap this morning, staring at Dick’s dopey grin.

_It’s not like we weren’t wearing clothes_ , she told herself as she loaded up the camera near the food court and rolled it back on 25-speed. _We fell asleep playing video games. Big deal._

Corny and Dick whizzed by on yesterday’s footage, swinging around their mannequin legs in a mock sword fight. _And it’s not like Logan could control his hand massaging my scalp in his sleep, which felt way too good—FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!_

The cold shower was supposed to take care of that feeling. That cooped up, needy _want_ that was surely the result of fear, stress and forcible confinement with no other viable options and a recent track record of disappointing men. 

_He’s the son of movie stars. Of course he’s magnetic. It’s nothing, Veronica. You’re just very stressed, and your hormones are haywire from the threat of death. No biggie. It’ll go away when you get out of here, so ignore it._

She reached morning, the moment of the extraction from their food court containment space. Her anger simmered as she watched a SWAT officer gun a woman dressed in scrubs down in a panic while others gathered up test subjects—including Madison Sinclair and Casey Gant. 

“How are your parents not demanding to see you? You’re rich.”

“Alcoholism and pure neglect,” a voice called out behind her.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she paused the playback. _Logan_.She’d been avoiding him since a hurried breakfast smoothie. Now he had her cornered in the security office.

“I was thinking more of Madison and Casey, Preston’s test subjects, but now that you bring them up…” she deflected casually.

Logan leaned on the table beside her, studying the footage. “Casey’s one of them? Huh. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

“He said with disdain. Your parents, Logan?”

“Are on an island for the next week, and probably haven’t noticed a thing. Alcoholism, neglect? Keep up.” 

The hurt beneath the harsh tone gave her pause and she quickly changed topics. “Anyway, we have footage of SWAT murdering a nurse, which should play well on the news if we get out of here.”

“When,” he stressed. “We’re going to be okay, Veronica.”

“I’m glad you’re confident,” she muttered, closing the laptop.

“Your investigative brains, my lack of recognition of my mortality. We’re a winning team.” He crossed the room to the mini-fridge and yanked it open, sighing deeply. “Dick and Corny found the Sprite.”

“Yep. Along with two skateboards confiscated in the back storage room, if you’d like to know why they’re making jackasses of themselves on the lower level right now.”

Logan froze, clutching the door tightly. “They’re not trying to grind down the stairwells, are they?”

“Oh God, are they that stupid? Don’t answer that, Dick Casablancas is involved.”

She hurriedly pulled up cameras at the security console, seeking the two slackers through a series of screens. Her relief was audible as she found them not on the stairs, but circling around a small water fountain near MAC Cosmetics. Sure, Dick had what mighy be a lollipop in his mouth and could choke on it at any minute, but a broken arm would be a far greater liability.

“He’s a pretty good skater. Can’t grind, but he’ll stay upright on a flat surface,” Logan assured her. “Comes with surfing.”

“Right.” She swallowed hard, acutely aware of Logan leaning in beside her. “Were you looking for me for something?”

_Please don’t say you want to talk about the couch, please don’t bring that up…_

“Nothing specific, just hadn’t seen you in a while. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to get through all of this early so we could relax later.” A lie, but one she could pull off. “What have you been up to?”

Logan leaned back against the farthest console desk. “Hung out on the roof for a while. Tried listening to the boys in black on the ground. They moved a few people onto that bus and drove off an hour ago.” 

“Probably taking them to the Erwich Lab for more tests. Might come back for more food court subjects tomorrow. We should be ready.”

“I agree. I also think we should start planning an escape route. I went scouting through the back corridors and checked out the roof, but there’s no good option that doesn’t run us straight into men with guns.” 

“Parking garage?” Veronica suggested.

“I think it’s the right play, but I’m not sure where the doors open, how fast they do, or how much noise it’ll make. I’ll do recon tomorrow.”

“ _We_ will do recon. Why don’t you check that desk over there for floor plans? Maybe we can do a little research?”

Veronica switched video files as Logan opened a desk drawer and shuffled papers. This camera was… _Oh. Oh boy._ It was the camera near the entrance of Nordstrom. A useful camera for protection but _what is that_?

She glanced nervously behind her, satisfied Logan was busy sorting through a stack of documents and notebooks. Before playing. The timestamp was evening, around the time they’d brought back their board games for their little war. She’d gone ahead, anxious about dropping the boxes. Logan was behind her, watching her with a smile… but it was _more_. He was almost _nervous_.

_Why do I make you nervous, Logan?_

“Oh, this might help. Fire safety plans have maps of each floor, right?”

She quickly closed the video player. “They should if they’re any good. Bring it over!”

_Or maybe he was nervous about your screw up on the roof? God, Veronica!_

Shaking her head, she focused as Logan spread out the documents on the table in front of her. The situation with Preston and SWAT was undeniably bad. They needed a plan B, and fast. 

“Alright, let’s see if we can find an escape route that doesn’t involve me crawling through a grimy hatch again…”

* * *

Something was off with Veronica. 

Logan watched her dole out toppings on the night’s pizza with Corny as her co-chef, half-listening to Dick ramble about a Casper Flip he’d pulled off earlier—not that Logan knew exactly what that was, aside from a trick with a skateboard. He supposed it could be the looming threat of Preston and her continued worry about the brief slip of her mirror on the rooftop, but the swirling pit of nerves in his stomach and the way she’d managed to avoid him for seven straight hours suggested it had a lot more to do with their sleepover on the couch.

_Maybe she’s not into me_ , he lamented. 

“Dude, are you paying attention?” Dick complained.

“Yeah. Why don’t you show me that flip over there?” Logan asked pointedly, gesturing several stores down.

Dick glanced at Veronica and winked. “Uh, yeah! Totally.”

He needed insight, and as reluctant as he was to ask Dick, the options were him or Corny, and he at least knew Dick could keep a secret when asked. Passively skating in circles outside of a candle shop, the blonde gestured to Logan with an expectant grin.

“My office is open, bro. I see you two got cozy last night. You need a condom? I might have one in my jacket—“

“What? No, Dick. Veronica’s been avoiding me all day, and I’m not sure why. The couch was accidental.”

Dick did a basic backflip, tilting his head. “You accidentally cuddled?”

“Yes! And when I woke up, she was gone. Wait, how cuddled were we? Did you see us this morning?”

His friend snorted, shaking his head. “She was practically melded to your torso like a conjoined twin, lying half on your side, dude. You were stroking her hair like a cat. She woke up all flustered and ran for the showers while Corny and I rolled a blunt.”

Things were making more sense now. He’d slumped over in the night, and she’d scooched closer into a far more intimate position. _She must feel embarrassed._ It wasn’t like he’d made his feelings clear. He’d _flirted_ , testing the waters with her, and so far she’d met him halfway or at least, she hadn’t pushed back.

Maybe it was time to be a little more direct.

“I have an idea for tonight,” Logan announced. “Tell me what you think…”

Dick listened with increasing enthusiasm. Logan grabbed his fist, suppressing the blatant pump that Veronica would surely see, were she not mercifully slinging pies into a wood-fired oven at that moment. 

“So, it’s a good plan?”

“The Dickster gives it his stamp of approval. Corny and I will camp at Casa Nordstrom and give you two privacy.” Dick waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Think she’ll agree?”

“Maybe you two could be a little… obnoxious at dinner?” Logan casually suggested.

It was probably a given, he reasoned, but why not opt for a little insurance? Dick’s mischievous look sealed the deal. His plan was in motion. 

On to phase two: prepping the space for Operation First Date.

Excusing himself to check on the cameras, he swung into his target destination, adjusting the furniture to his liking before wandering three doors down and arranging snacks for the evening. Knowing Veronica’s preference in munchies, he set up their seating area with their junk food of choice and added a little mood lighting. 

_Perfect. Now, to eat dinner and convince her we need downtime away from the Blunt Brothers_.

Halfway through dinner, he spotted his chance: Corny and Dick were arguing over an earlier game of Borderlands where Corny insisted Dick had “ruined” the mission, pepperoni was being tossed to emphasize points and Veronica was massaging her temples. Whether Dick had cooked up this argument to help him or was simply managing to be a jerk by nature, it was playing right into Logan’s hands.

“I have an idea,” Logan whispered in her ear.

“Does it involve shoving them in the dumpster with the rotten sushi?” Veronica cooed.

“Not yet, but we can save that as a last resort. How about we let them have a game night at home base and find somewhere else to unwind after dinner?”

A flicker of hesitation swiftly passed as Dick dipped his fingers in a glass of Pepsi and flicked them at Corny’s face. “Is it somewhere peaceful?”

“I have just the place in mind.”

“Sold.” Picking up her plate and Sunkist, Veronica groaned. “Hey, here’s an idea: you two measure your virtual wangs with another round of Borderlands right now. Logan, grab that pepperoni pizza to go.”

“On it. Don’t stay up too late, boys. It’s a school night,” he goaded.

“Mom and Dad are leaving us to starve,” Corny whined.

Veronica rolled her eyes, gesturing to the second box on the table. “There’s half a pizza left for you two!”

“Starve, brah,” Corny mumbled to Dick.

Logan shook his head, urging her to give up. This was an argument she wouldn’t win. Accepting defeat, Veronica followed him out of Nordstrom with a look of trepidation.

“So, where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I hate surprises. Tell me,” Veronica grumbled.

Logan balanced the pizza box in one hand as he led them towards Best Buy. “We’ll be there soon, and it’ll be free of Dick and Corny. Isn’t that what matters most?”

Theirs was a two-part mission, and as Logan paused in front of Best Buy, Veronica exhaled loudly. “Here?”

“Not to hang out. Supplies,” Logan explained with a warm smile. “We’re having a movie night. You choose.”

He watched her closely, studying her reaction: confusion, curiosity, and a hint of enthusiasm that buoyed his heart. He waved her inside, waiting patiently at the entrance as she wandered through the DVD section. After several long minutes, she returned with two movies in hand, neither of which she would share with him.

“I’m surprising you,” she insisted playfully. 

Next stop: the Sony Store, where his carefully constructed viewing area awaited her. Veronica’s eyes widened at the recliners he’d pushed together, the tables loaded with popcorn and candy, and the widescreen TV perfectly positioned in front of them.

“I remembered Dick and Corny’s story about watching the animals on that first day in here, and threw this together,” he explained quietly.

“This is so cool,” Veronica gushed. “It’s like those VIP theatres, with the fancy seats.”

“Exactly!”

_She gets it. She understands what I was trying to make for her. Now… does she like it?_

Veronica held up two DVDs, shrugging her shoulders. “I couldn’t choose. _The Big Lebowski_ or _Shaun of the Dead_?”

Logan reached for the cases, surprised by her choices. “You chose a zombie movie.”

“A comedic zombie movie. I tend to deal with life through sarcasm so it made sense to me, but if it’s too on the nose, _The Dude abides_.” Veronica glanced away nervously, fidgeting with the candy on the table. “Oh you found M&Ms!”

Filing away this tidbit about her personality, Logan tapped the DVDs on his thigh and headed for the TV. “No, I just… expected you to choose distraction. You surprised me.”

“Well, you don’t know everything about me, Logan,” she replied, a defensive edge in her voice.

Glancing up from the DVD player, he smiled shyly. “Yet.”

Her softened expression as she took her seat gave him hope that she was willing to give him a chance. And while the first half hour of the film was stiff postures and pizza snacking, by the time Shaun and his friends were on their way to his beloved pub, Veronica was leaning closer to him, drawing her knees up onto the seat of the large recliner as she laughed at the action on screen.

“Popcorn?” she offered, propping the bag between them.

“Thanks.” 

His hand grazed her as he reached blindly, laughing at the terrible impressions the group were doing of the undead in an absurd effort to blend in. He stilled, but did not pull away, gauging her reaction. A soft murmured apology from Veronica, and her hand slipped away slowly, but did not recoil.

“Do you think he wins Liz back?” Veronica asked, popping a kernel in her mouth.

“I think so. He’s good in a crisis, he makes her laugh, and he’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

Veronica hummed thoughtfully. “He did take her to the pub when her apartment was probably more defensible.”

“It’s his first apocalypse. Cut him some slack. Not everyone is as smart as you.”

Logan watched as Shaun baited the zombies from his friends, allowing them to slip safely inside the pub. _Yeah, I’d do that in a heartbeat._

“You’re smarter than Shaun,” Veronica observed, reaching for a handful of buttery corn. “And it’s your first apocalypse, unless you’re holding out on me?”

His gaze drifted sideways, noticing Veronica’s attention was not on the screen, but him. She was studying him intently, a curious half-smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“My first, and hopefully my last. I’m alright, but I’m better off with you here. We make a good team.”

Her silence worried him until she scooched closer, resting her head against his arm as she continued to munch on popcorn. He wouldn’t call attention to it, he decided, allowing things to play out on her terms. 

He ignored the soft breaths on his skin as she watched the movie, laughing and gasping at the action on screen. Ignored how her hand absently covered his when the popcorn ran out. Ignored how badly he wanted to turn his arm, lace his fingers between hers. Ignored the erratic beat of his heart as she grinned up at him while the end credits rolled.

“That was so fun! Are you tired, or do you want to watch the other one too?”

“No, let’s watch both,” Logan blurted out. “Bathroom break first?”

“Ooh, please! I drank way too much Sunkist,” Veronica groaned.

A cold water splash to the face after relieving himself. A silent pep talk. _This is going well. Just keep going slow. She doesn’t know you as anything but an asshole rich kid._ His arm was numb, but he didn’t care. It smelled faintly of strawberries—her conditioner, he assumed.

Veronica was waiting for him outside the bathroom, pacing in lazy figure-eights. Spotting him, she startled with a soft noise. 

“Oh! You ready for movie two?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Her eyes darted to his right arm and she frowned. “Crap, do you have any circulation left in there? I left shirt indents in your skin.”

“There may be a few pins and/or needles,” he admitted lightly. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

Her boot scuffed the ground softly as she averted her gaze. “I’m sorry, I was just… comfortable.”

She pivoted away, looking to flee, but he’d learned to read her signs of flight. He caught her gently by the wrist, deterring her as he stepped closer.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I was comfortable, too.”

“Oh. Um, okay?”

His thumb ran in a soft circle inside her wrist before releasing it, his focus now on the way she’s staring up at him with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. With the women of his past, this would be the moment he would kiss them. Lean in, claim their mouths roughly. But they weren’t Veronica Mars. They weren’t women who’d spent years believing him a cruel tormenter, a ringleader of a circus.

As badly as he wanted to kiss her, to go all in, it was still too soon. He wanted her to trust him, and she wasn’t quite there yet.

Instead, his tentative fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, baring her delicate features. He savoured the hint of pink blossoming in her cheeks as he nodded his head in the direction of the Sony Store.

“C’mon. Our double feature continues.”

Half an hour later, when Veronica reached for his hand and held it—really held it, fingers entwined—Logan suppressed the urge to grin like an idiot. He didn’t suppress the urge, however, to reach for her hand as they walked back to Nordstrom, quietly chatting about both films.

She paused just outside the store, her gaze drifting to a sleeping Dick and Corny. “Thank you, Logan. That was a welcome break.”

“Anytime.”

He swallowed hard as she squeezed his hand, stepping forward a half step before gently pulling away and heading inside. _Dick and Corny_. She was a private person and what they had… she was questioning it.

He could be patient. She was worth the wait. Switching into his pajamas as she disappeared downstairs to change, he crawled beneath the covers and hugged the pillows closer.

_Operation First Date, a definite success_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We needed and deserved a fluffier welcome back but more mystery and lab intrigue is coming in the next chapter.
> 
> Update wise:  
> \- this story probably has 6 more chapters, give or take  
> \- for those following Mirrored Perspective, I'm still debating whether to wrap this story first or alternate them but those on Discord will find out soon enough
> 
> Reviews fuel writers who feel rusty after months away. It's science. I hope our Castle welcomed you back nicely.


	9. Day Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the month of Valentine's, so I would be very remiss not to manage at least one more update from the Castle of zombies and LoVe.
> 
> A little sleuthing, a little fluff... I'm a versatile provider. Settle in and bring your favourite snacks.

**DAY FIVE: ERWICH LABORATORIES, SAN DIEGO**

“This is the level one laboratory,” a petite brunette explained, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Basically the equivalent of a high school biology class. We let our interns and co-ops work there.”

He chuckled in a knowing way. “I remember those years. I did my internship at a laboratory for a subsidiary of Pfizer.”

“I did mine with Astro Zeneca!” she gushed. “Did they make you fetch sandwiches too?”

“Yes! Did they make you analyze the chemical makeup of condiments and claim it was for educational purposes as a prank?”

The brunette paused in front of a door secured with a keypad and swipe card. “No! I should try that out on an intern; that’s clever. My supervisors did have me work on a _very important_ formula that turned out to be a convoluted way to prepare a cold and flu tablet.”

“It’s all a part of the initiation. Good fun. What’s this lab?’ he asked.

“Oh, this one? It’s a level five. Government research project, top secret. Even I’m not working on that one, or I’d give you a tour, but if your clearance will be a four then Dr. Preston or Dr. Evans can give you a high-level visit later.” She frowned, staring at the heavy steel door. “I hear it’s been a problem for the lab. Lots of late hours.”

His kind eyes focused on her furrowed brow as he leaned closer. “The study’s not going well?”

“Understatement of the year.”

She led him down a narrow corridor, fiddling with the badge around her neck as they walked. “My friend Nicole, she’s a five, and she says the project was meant to help the army in combat. Whatever serum they created, it had terrible side effects. One of the creators quit the project and threatened to take the serum to a competitor, jeopardizing our exclusivity. Now, there’s a pool of test subjects with a new batch reacting poorly, and the lab’s working overtime to manage their symptoms. Those poor people, they’re so uncomfortable.”

“Everyone must be so stressed and worried,” he sympathized. “Will the test subjects recover?”

“The isolated ones should be fine once the serum wears off. It takes nineteen to twenty-one days, so it’s a long half-life. But I’ve heard rumours people have died and the government is really, _really_ mad.” Shaking her head, she gestured to another lab with a keypad. “This is where we work on our cancer medications, a level three lab. Honestly, Douglas, you should be so happy you were hired as a four. You don’t have to deal with that stress.”

“I dodged a bullet,” he agreed, rubbing the balding patch on top of his head. 

“So, that’s the main lab spaces! Did you want to grab breakfast while you wait for your processing meeting at ten? The cafeteria is just at the end of the hall.”

“That sounds perfect, Serena. Is there a bathroom nearby?”

The brunette pointed out the facilities and keyed her way into the level three lab, leaving him alone in the corridor. It was what he’d banked on, given his research into the company roster. A little help from Mac in arranging a meeting with Serena to onboard new employee Douglas Zorski and he was inside, with a badge that would access doors marked as level three and below.

Keith hadn’t banked on the _processing meeting_ to gain the additional levels. The lab was off limits, but he’d learned a great deal from Serena already. More than he’d managed from his failed attempts to infiltrate the camp surrounding Neptune Heights.

Slipping inside the bathroom, he slid inside a stall and reviewed the schematic Mac had retrieved for him through means he would not question. If there were “test subjects” on site—and the people he’d witnessed shoved inside the bus yesterday seemed to be taken from the mall—then he wanted to try and locate possible holding rooms. 

His first priority: looking for Veronica. His second: finding witnesses to whatever _really_ happened inside the mall.

If he could talk to them, or gather photos of their condition, it might be enough to push for FBI involvement. Forcible confinement, a conspiracy to conceal a bioweapon designed for government use… it was terrifying to think of Veronica caught up in this web.

The hallway to the east of the cafeteria looked promising, Keith decided. Strolling casually out of the bathroom, he headed down the corridor with a look of boredom, as if his boss had sent him on a menial task he couldn’t wait to be done with. He nodded slightly to a disinterested man passing in the opposite direction, who scarcely acknowledged his presence. 

A series of doors lay on the right hand side of the corridor, marked with a string of six digits and accessible with an access card swipe. Some bore keypads—a problem, since Serena had advised numeric codes would be issued at processing—but all had small barred windows. 

_Observation rooms?_

The first lay empty, but it held a small bed, lending credence to his theory. The second was a used space—clothes were strewn on the floor, some in tatters, to his dismay—but no occupant remained. The clothes were more masculine and far too large for Veronica, so Keith pressed on. 

The flash of blonde hair behind window number three turned his stomach. His face pressed to the glass, fingernails lightly tapping as a slight figure stood with its back to him, shoulder length blonde hair matted with blood and perhaps sweat. Her white t-shirt and blue hospital scrubs were twisted and blood-stained, and a tray of food was splattered on the farthest wall.

“Veronica?”

Something felt wrong, and as the figure turned, relief swelled within. It wasn’t his daughter, but he knew the young woman inside as one of her classmates, Madison Sinclair. Anyone who’d been in Neptune as long as Keith knew of the Sinclairs and Mackenzies; the baby switch was major news, although the town collectively swallowed the secret at the behest of the wealthy family in the pair. The woman who stared through him now, her eyes glassy and vacant… she wasn’t _Madison_. She was… Keith couldn’t explain it.

“Serena was right,” he whispered. “What have they done?”

The stolen information Preston had him chasing, it was a serum or some other form of biological agent. Something so toxic, so askew, those who came into contact with it were disoriented, pale—and as Madison began shrieking angrily through the glass, Keith assumed violent was another characteristic.

_Anthrax, Lamb?_

“Hey! What are you doing over there?”

A man in a white lab coat with a stern expression and neatly styled blonde hair stormed down the hallway towards Keith. Shrugging off his panic, Keith held up his badge.

“Douglas Zorski. I’m new. Just walking around waiting for processing. She seems like a handful,” he added wryly, jerking a thumb at Madison.

“We don’t _have´_ any new hires,” the man snapped, reaching for his phone.

“I’m a level four—“

“Like hell you are. I’m the head of HR. Security? We have a breach,” the man barked into his phone.

Well, shit. This wasn’t going to end well. Time for plan B.

“Congratulations, you passed,” Keith announced. “Stephen will be pleased with you. Serena, not so much. We’ll have to discuss her.”

“I, what the fuck are you going on about?”

Down the corridor, Keith could hear the heavy footfalls of what he assumed were guards. Gesturing to the approaching forces, he smiled.

“I’m Keith Mars. Stephen Preston hired me to locate Evelyn Tedesco. Go ahead and call, he’ll verify that for you. I have reason to believe that she may have had further inside help and decided to test the security of your facility today through an unannounced exercise. You’re the only one who passed.”

Preston wouldn’t like the intrusion, especially if he was as dirty as Keith was beginning to suspect from his limited observations at the mall. But it would get him out of here unscathed. The man held up a hand, ordering the security personnel to watch Keith as he placed a call. After several minutes, the man hung up, visibly displeased.

“Dr. Preston confirmed your hiring, but is not happy with your intrusion into our confidential facility. He has asked me to inform you this will be the last day your services will be required. Your account will be settled in full later today.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I feel that we were making great progress,” Keith lied.

“Security will see you out. Thank you, Mr. Mars.”

Escorted to his car, somewhat gruffly, Keith slid behind the wheel and took stock of what he knew. It wasn’t enough proof, he imagined, to kickstart the Feds, although it would guide him on his next moves. He could also tell the Sinclairs what he’d seen, hope that their wealth and pressure would encourage action. 

“It’s the number of guns on the perimeter,” he griped, turning over the engine. “There’s too many to sneak past.”

What he needed was in the trailers at the mall. He knew it, and the SWAT force surrounding it knew it, too. He’d have to find a way, think of a new strategy to try. His daughter’s life was depending on it.

His hand closed over his phone, dialling her number for the fiftieth time. Straight to voicemail. He listened to her voice, light in tone but to the point. Veronica was always thinking of the next thing to do, to be. Right now, he only wanted her to be safe.

“Hey kiddo, I don’t know if you’re getting these but if you are… I’m looking for you. I will find you. I love you, Veronica. Stay strong.”

* * *

**DAY FIVE: NEPTUNE HEIGHTS**

Veronica sat her glass down with a loud thud. “A bro night?”

“Yeah. You’re hogging my dude and I’m calling dibs,” Dick announced with a rather sulky tone.

She glanced across the table at Logan, rolling her eyes. “Is he ten?”

“Dick, you and Corny keep having video game wars and Veronica and I get bored, so we amuse ourselves. This is kind of on you, too,” Logan protested.

“Yeah, well, you could tag in for a turn. We’d totally share.”

Corny nods enthusiastically, reaching for another slice of pizza. “I need bong loading breaks. Or munchie breaks.”

“How do you even still have weed to load into that oversized pineapple?” Veronica probed.

“Papa Mars would tell you knowledge of a crime is like, a crime or something, so don’t ask.” Corny winked and reached for the gleaming yellow and green bong on the table beside him. “Speaking of, time for me and my tropical friend to get toasted.”

As Corny wandered away, Dick leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Corny picked up weed for like, five people on our way to the mall. He’s got a _lot_ of stash but it’s not his so he stopped sharing. And I’m _bored_ since you won’t let me kill the zombies.”

“They’re not zombies, Dick. They’re infected with a temporary virus,” Logan explained patiently. “Fine, we’ll hang out for a bit and then all four of us can watch movies later. Deal?”

Dick bumped Logan’s fist and rose from the table. “Lemme go find the skateboards. I found a sweet spot to grind inside this boutique on the first floor.”

As he wandered away, Veronica groaned. “Please, _please_ don’t break any bones on your _bro night”_

Logan shrugged her concerns off as he reached for a bag of Skittles on the table. “Why would I do that? There’s no security here to serve us charcuterie.”

“I mean it!”

“Relax. My guess is he’s just getting anxious from being trapped in here, surrounded by our SWAT buddies, for the last five days. Dick’s used to spending his days surfing and killing brain cells with Ketel One martinis from daddy’s bar.” He waved the bag of candy at her and she held out her hand. “We’ll skate around the lower level, shoot the shit, and bring back a few movies.”

Popping a Skittle in her mouth, Veronica sighed. “Alright, but I veto any more stoner comedies. Quality chuckles, please.”

“And your weight in microwave popcorn. Got it.” With a wink, Logan nodded to Dick, who was returning with skateboards and a can of Red Bull tucked in the pocket of his jeans. “Duty calls.”

“Have fun, boys. Be home by curfew!”

“Yes, _mom_!” Dick sing-songed. “Come on, Logan.”

Watching the two of them walk out of Nordstrom, Veronica felt a pang of sadness and almost longing. She’d spent the last four days nearly inseparable from Logan, aside from yesterday’s mission to avoid him, lest she humiliate herself. And after last night’s makeshift movie theatre outing at the Sony Store, she was feeling a little _verklempt_.

So many emotions swirled within her: fear over what Preston might order his SWAT buddies to do next; anxiety over her father, and what he was imagining had happened to her; frustration with their captivity and her lack of escape plan; and a growing affection for Logan that clashed with her longstanding loathing of him.

She sat at the table, staring at his abandoned orange hoodie. He’d held her hand the entire walk back to the store, his thumb running in a light circle over hers as they said goodnight. For a brief moment as she’d settled into bed, she’d considered rolling over and reaching out for him, maybe holding his hand again. It was comforting to hang onto him. It anchored her, quieted the racing thoughts that never relented.

She was noticing that about Logan: with him, she relaxed. She trusted that she _could_ just be still for a moment and breathe. What that meant… she didn’t know.

“They gone?”

Veronica glanced up, smiling wanly at Corny. “Yeah, they’re off to skate.”

Corny held out his bong with bleary eyes. “You wanna hit?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass without the puff.”

He chuckled, setting the glass pineapple down beside his bed. “Natch, you’re a ganja virgin.”

“Guess I don’t like losing my head,” Veronica deflected, tidying up the empty pizza box and used plates on the table.

“I don’t smoke to get wasted.” At her pointed look, Corny grinned. “Alright, so I _sometimes_ get high to party. You drink, right? Same thing, only my liver is happier.”

“You have a point,” Veronica agreed, shoving the garbage in the trash. “So why do you smoke so much?”

“Medicinal marijuana, Miss Mars,” he replied, laying back on his bed. “I have really bad anxiety. I used to panic all the time around people. Sitting in a classroom made my skin crawl, because I could feel every eye on me. I wouldn’t hear the teacher, cuz there would be all the eyes, and my heart would be drumming in my head like a rave.”

“And weed helps you? I thought it made people paranoid.”

“Totally. Different strains do different things. The one I like, it makes my body feel like floating in a Jacuzzi. It’s warm and safe, and I can think. My grades aren’t like yours, but I do pretty good.”

Veronica leaned on the pillar beside Corny’s bed. “Hey, you should be proud. You found a way to work through anxiety and get good grades. It’s not easy.”

“Thanks. I want to do something fun in college, like art, or maybe a helpful job like those people who coach you when you have injuries and stuff. You know, tell you how to do cool stretches to fix your busted ankle.”

“Like a physiotherapist?”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. I like making people happy. Or I could cook. I make a mean ‘za.”

Veronica grinned. “You really do. I think culinary school would be awesome for you, Corny.”

“So, are you and Dad banging yet?”

Veronica felt her cheeks burn as her jaw fell slack. “WHAT?”

Corny’s hand dug into an open bag of Twizzlers. “I mean, you two keep sneaking off. You’re totally into each other. There’s a bed in the security office and you got a key. I’m not a detective, but even I can solve this case.”

“We are _definitely_ not sleeping together. We haven’t even kissed!” She headed for her bed, eager for a distraction—like reviewing the day’s security footage. “And that security bed is a single.”

“So you’ve thought about it?”

“Shut up!” Yes, she had, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

“Okay, but you like Logan, right? You threw that fit when he disappeared and woke us up, and he watches you with heart eyes all day.” 

Tucking the laptop beneath her arm, she turned around. “I… You think Logan likes me?”

A swing of a bright red rope of licorice in her direction and a smirk. “I _know_. I’m perceptive, like Logan. I studied that word for the SAT.”

“Perceptive? What does that have to do with him liking me or not?”

Veronica sat down at the table and booted up the laptop. Corny settled into the seat across from her, sipping on a Coke.

“I mean, he notices stuff. He’s a watcher, but not like, a creeper stalker dude. He sees people. And he’s been watching you for _years_. So like, it’s not just the last few days, if that’s what you think.”

Veronica paused, staring at the frozen video of the rooftop camera. _Logan’s been paying attention to me for years? What is Corny trying to say?_ She thought of the text message, and Logan’s eerily similar words. _That would make sense, then._

“If he’s been watching, how has he missed everyone treating me like garbage?” she protested bitterly.

“Because people do it behind his back. Maybe _you_ should try being perceptive, Veronica Mars.” Corny reached for a binder in the centre of the table. “What’s this? Homework?”

Veronica sighed, tapping a key to play the video footage. “Maps of the mall. Looking for an escape plan that doesn’t lead to us getting shot by the SWAT. Can’t make much sense of them. Every exit seems hopelessly close to Preston’s hired guns.”

“Can I try?”

“Sure, why not?”

How much harm could he do? It wasn’t like she was getting anywhere with the poorly printed, not to scale diagrams and maps. 

She began her nightly routine of running video in reverse, beginning with the rooftop camera. Keeping tabs on Preston was her top priority. Corny flipped through the binder across from her, shuffling pages and humming softly.

The daytime footage was relatively banal: SWAT wandering around the mystery trailers; Preston and several others in lab coats seemingly bossing them around; a brief visit from Sheriff Lamb. Around two, however, something new happened: a bus _arrived_ at the mall, unloading two people dressed in the familiar gowns of those she’d dubbed test subjects.

“What the hell?”

Squinting closer, Veronica gasped at the familiar figure with blonde hair who wrestled angrily against her restraints. _Madison Sinclair_. They’d removed her from the food court two days ago, and clearly taken her off premises. 

“Why are they bringing you back? And why didn’t they bring you back to the food court?”

“Who’s back?”

“Madison, and some other guy… It’s like they took them somewhere else, but now they’re testing them here?”

Corny craned his head around the laptop monitor, tapping the screen. “Oh hey, that’s my boy! Joshy Docherty!”

“Who?”

“He goes to Hearst, orders a Supreme with no sausage and extra mushroom every Friday, hot wings too.”

Veronica paused the video and leaned back in her chair. “How do you remember that?”

“Dude’s a musician, and he always tips me ten. I get him his ‘za _pronto_. His dorm has babes and he’s a cool dude. He’s buds with Mary Jane, if you know what I mean.”

Veronica chuckled. “I see. Well, I’m afraid your friend is Preston’s test subject, Corny.”

“Bummer. He’s got a show next week. Woulda been killer. Now I guess he _is_ killer.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, fighting a laugh as Corny took a hit off his bong. _What are you up to, Preston? Why are you bringing them back here?_ An icy chill ran down her spine as she contemplated her own words. _Is he going to try and shove them back inside the food court?_

“Early morning tomorrow,” she told Corny. “They may be coming to return their friends to the food court, or swap them for new playmates.”

“Or we could just bust outta here,” Corny suggested, tapping the binder in front of him. “I mean, there’s two ways. One kinda sucks, but one’s pretty good.”

“No, they all suck. They’re all really close to SWAT.”

Corny clucked his tongue at her. “Mars, did you flunk Geography? These maps don’t match. They’re pretty bad.”

“I know that, but the parking garage has to run under most of the building, and when I lined up those elevators—“

“Nah, which ones do you think are elevators?”

Veronica shoved the laptop aside, pointing to several rectangles in turn. “These, obviously.”

“There’s your problem: those aren’t the elevators. They’re the stairwells _beside_ the elevators. These teeny rectangles are the elevator,” Corny explained, tapping them with a straw.

“What? No.”

As Veronica shifted around the table, Corny grinned. “I deliver pizza by GPS to the county. Maps are kinda important. And I also know this mall, and the elevator on this side is right beside Osh Kosh, which can’t be this blob. It has to be _this_ one.” He tapped the page, and Veronica agreed: the other rectangle was beside a different store as he lined the two schematics up. “And this little box? It’s the elevators by that clock store with the schlong name. So the map is like… I dunno, seventy five percent scale. The garage stops around here.”

Studying the map of the lower concourse with this new insight, Veronica’s mind whirred with possibilities. If the elevators were _those_ boxes… then that meant there was an elevator down to the lower level that dropped by an exit ramp. An exit ramp just around the corner from SWAT’s line of sight, with a street level exit from a stairwell, should they need to book it on foot. A car would be faster and more ideal, given their armed enemies, but a car from street level, avoiding the rattling of a parking garage door would be far superior.

“Corny, this is really good. I thought that our only out was maybe this ramp, but with the noise it would cause, I was… pessimistic.”

He held up his hand for a high five and she obliged, matching his contagious grin. “Awesome! I’ll make us some weapons to fight our way out. When do we bail?”

“Hmm… we need to scope the lot out tomorrow. A couple days, unless shit gets bad. I’d like to get weapons, food, maybe try and find a way to break their radio blocks and reach my dad. If he can meet us on the outside and help us flee, even better.”

“I like it. Very smart plan. This is why you’re gonna be the Valerian.”

“The what?”

“The person who has the best grades and makes the speech about how awesome we are?”

“Valedictorian. Isn’t Valerian a root?”

“Right! Or herb.” Corny snorted, rising and heading back to his bedside for his trusty pineapple. “Herb.”

Veronica tugged her laptop closer and sipped her Sunkist. He’d cracked the code of the concourse maps. Could she really expect more of Corny?

* * *

“Hey Logan, watch this flip!”

Logan gritted his teeth as Dick slid down a mini-staircase inside of a tuxedo shop and flipped off the end, thankfully landing on the board and not his face. Maybe Veronica’s concerns about broken bones were justified. 

“You really won’t try?”

“Waves? I’ll conquer almost anything in the ocean. Wheels are different, Dick.” 

Circling slowly around several racks of prom-ready tuxes, Dick shrugged off Logan’s reluctance with his usual easy nature. They’d always managed a simple relationship: they both enjoyed a laugh; they understood each other’s flaws; and they accepted what limits the other threw out. Being the fucked-up sons of two candidates for Father Of The Year—Sarcasm Edition—their limits were few, and their self-destructive tendencies were mighty.

“So, how’s things with Ronniekins?”

“They’re good? She’s difficult to read,” Logan admitted.

“So are you, dude. How long have you been pining like a tween girl? Veronica is a detective. If you were obvious, she would have sniffed that out by now.” Dick plucked a tux off the rack and held it up to his chest. “Do you think the zombies will cancel the prom?”

“I think we have enough time to save the big dance,” Logan replied, absently examining a rack of bow ties. “She let me hold her hand.”

“Aww, cute. If you two were in 1901, you’d be practically married. Have you even tried to kiss her?”

“I thought about it,” Logan admitted. “Last night, there was a moment, but she got this look… and it seemed too soon. I mean, my dad helped ruin her life for years. Speaking of…”

Logan drew a deep breath to steady himself. He knew Dick could often be crass without thinking, but he’d meant what he promised Veronica: the bullshit was going to stop.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to lay off her a long time ago.”

Dick shrugged, holding up a powder blue suit. “What is this, 1962? I did, dude. No more ragging on her for her drunk mom.”

Snatching the tuxedo from Dick’s hand, Logan stared him down. Dick swallowed hard, stepping off his skateboard with a nervous expression.

“No, I believe I said to lay off Veronica, period. That means no jokes about her money, her clothes, or implying she’s having sex with the various sports teams. No more hurting her. And as my friend, I’m giving you a new task: making sure that no one around you bothers her either.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “C’mon, guys are gonna say shit. And it’s the girls you really gotta listen for. Shelly and Madison are the worst. Even I’ve told Madison to chill.”

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, but you can remind them that I will hear about it. Because _you_ will tell me. And Madison… well, she’s never gotten over me shooting her down in ninth grade.”

“Is that why she keeps dating me?”

Logan grimaced, forgetting that Dick wasn’t as intuitive as most. Madison’s on-off relationship with Dick—which usually coincided with Logan being single—was pretty obvious to everyone in their class. Everyone, it seemed, but Dick.

“I think she likes you. I also think she likes showing me what I lost out on years ago. Two birds, one stone,” Logan lied.

“Yeah, well, the Dickster is a prize and she’s lucky to win him.” The puffed chest and false bravado didn’t fool Logan, but he played along as Dick flipped the skateboard up into his hand. “Anyway, I only joke with Ronnie—“

“Dick—“

“But since you asked, I will be super serious from now on. Or joke about other people, like that weirdo Mandy with the pigtails and the dog pictures in her locker.”

Logan sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Or you could make jokes that don’t insult people?”

Running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, Dick snorted. “And what fun would that be? _I’m kidding dude_ , yeesh! Let’s go pick some movies. Funny ones, because you’re too fucking serious.”

“Fine, but no stupid comedies. Good ones,” Logan warned.

“My taste is _perfecto_.”

After ten minutes of debate in Best Buy, Logan finally found an in with Dick: Adam Sandler. Dick loved him, and anything he’d ever done. Which meant Logan could pluck up one of his more clever comedies… say the conveniently romantic _The Wedding Singer_ , and Dick wouldn’t protest. He figured Veronica would appreciate the chemistry with Drew Barrymore and laugh at the cheesy 80s references. Dick countered with _School of Rock_ and after a quick glance at the back, Logan shrugged, It was a theme: music-centric comedies.

“You think we’ll have to pay for our snacks when we get rescued?” Dick asked.

“They have insurance,” Logan replied. “The cops should have to pay for purposely not rescuing us. And if not, we’re not exactly on food stamps. We can pay.”

Dick frowned. “Yeah, but like, I eat a _lot_ of chocolate bars.”

“I’ve noticed. Did you seriously clean out the Milky Ways? Veronica loves them.”

“Not yet.” Dick pushed aside an empty box of spearmint gum on the rack, revealing a box of chocolate bars. “Corny was eating them too.”

Logan pocketed five bars, ignoring Dick’s protests. “Thank you. Now, popcorn and we’re set.”

They made it just outside Nordstrom before Dick halted sharply, causing Logan to collide with him. He stumbled backwards, puzzled by his friend’s abrupt pause.

“Hey Logan, I joke around a lot, but if Ronnie means a lot to you, then I hope it works out. And I’m sorry if me joking around made her sad or whatever. Should I apologize?”

Logan hesitated. Knowing Veronica, bringing up old baggage would only make her recoil. He shook his head slightly, patting him on the arm.

“I wouldn’t bring it up unless she does. Especially not right now. She’s stressed about the scientists outside. Just… be better for now.”

“Cool. Let’s go. I hope there’s still pizza.”

Logan hoped so too, but given Corny’s plans to blaze up when they left, he wasn’t holding his breath.

“Mom, we’re hungry!” Dick bellowed playfully as they approached the couch.

Veronica waved a hand absently towards the table, jamming a controller while jostling Corny. “Might be pizza. Good luck.”

They found three slices left and devoured them quickly, watching as Veronica kicked Corny’s ass at Mario Kart. Of course, she had the distinct advantage of not being high. She also wasn’t playing fair, subtly jostling the couch cushion beneath her opponent with a stealthy foot as they made difficult turns.

“You’re evil,” Logan murmured in her ear.

“He’s beaten me four of five,” she hissed. “I need dignity.”

_Fair enough_. He’d let her have it. Her race won, Corny congratulated her without suspecting a thing and loaded the first DVD for them before offering to handle microwaving popcorn. Dick followed in search of drinks, gushing about the flips he’d done off the rails of the tuxedo shop. Left alone, Veronica led Logan to her binder of schematics, walking him through her night’s activities. 

“Corny figured this out?”

“Delivery driver, maps… Should have guessed.”

“We’ll check it out tomorrow morning,” Logan decided.

“Maybe not. Preston brought Madison and one of his other test subjects back today. I’m wondering if we’re going to have a swap at the food court in the morning.”

Veronica’s furrowed brow and subtle tap of her toe betrayed her anxiety. Impulsively, Logan reached out to brush the hair off her cheek, his fingertips lingering on her soft skin.

“Then we’ll keep the radio on tonight so we’re prepared. I’ve got your back.”

“And I’ve got yours,” she replied softly.

Time halted: Logan’s hand resting on her cheek; Veronica’s icy irises studying him with a curious intensity. Questioning him, perhaps even daring him to… what? Speak? Make a move? His tentative heart raced, calculating all of the ways he could fuck up the fragile bond he’d only just begun to forge. _Maybe if I just…_

“MOVIE NIGHT!” Dick hooted.

_Never mind._ Pulling away quickly, Logan noticed Veronica’s flushed cheeks and was buoyed by her seemingly flustered state. _That’s gotta be a good sign._ Accepting a can of soda from Dick’s plastic bag, he settled onto one of the couches and cracked it open. One large swig and he felt steadier, cooler. Calmer.

Then Veronica shot it all to hell.

In her defense, Dick had plopped down on the other couch, meaning there was no chance in hell she would sit there. That wasn’t a problem. It was what Logan was secretly hoping for, of course. What he hadn’t anticipated was Veronica sitting _beside him_ —as in, her back pressed up against his side, her legs sprawling along the flower-covered cushion. 

“What are we watching?”

“ _The Wedding Singer._ Adam Sandler, but smart comedy. We compromised.”

She was warm through the flimsy cotton of his tee, her hand absently plucking popcorn from a bag. His arm was stretched along the back of the sofa, but he _could_ lower it. Could wrap it around her, hold her as she leaned on him.

Unless she didn’t want him to?

_Why the hell am I overthinking this? If it were any other woman, I’d just do it._

The answer, of course, lay in the question: _Veronica isn’t any woman. She’s special. Don’t fuck it up._

He opted for patience, waiting for a sign. Ten minutes into the movie, Veronica shifted closer, holding up the bag of buttery corn.

“Want some?” she whispered.

It made no sense to reach with his far hand. The hand on the back of the couch was the logical choice, and he reached inside, grabbing a handful of kernels and popping them in his mouth. When his arm lowered, he let it fall on her knee—and held his breath.

Veronica didn’t flinch. She did, however, tuck the popcorn beside her in a calculated position. To reach it, he’d have to wrap around her waist.

_Am I being baited?_ His lips curved upwards, amused by the prospect. Casually, he reached for popcorn, popping another mouthful in his mouth and chewing. His hand lowered to rest beside the bag… and hers covered his. Lightly, the barest touch. She didn’t glance up, her attention on the screen as she laughed at the wedding going awry.

_Message received_. 

Squeezing her gently, he watched the screen, his mind alight with ideas and possibilities. It was time for his best idea, his biggest date night plan. He knew there was hope now.

The next good moment they shared, he would take the damn risk, and kiss Veronica Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romance is blossoming in the Castle... and sinister shit is happening in San Diego. I'm so glad Keith is on the case!
> 
> Comment if you caught the in-joke (hint: it's edible) and tell me what you think is happening next. What's Preston's next move? What will Keith do? And what date could Logan be planning?
> 
> Stay safe and remember, cardio and double tap!


End file.
